The flux of life is pouring its aesthetic aspect into your eyes, your ears - and you ignore it because you are looking for your canons of beauty in some sort of frame or glass case or tradition.

Love of others is the appreciation of one's self.

Poetry is prose bewitched, a music made of visual thoughts, the sound of an idea.

There is no Space or Time Only intensity, And tame things Have no immensity

The feminist movement as at present instituted is Inadequate.

DIE in the past. Live in the future.

If you want to realize yourselves all your pet illusions must be unmasked.