Human beings are mercifully so constituted as to be able to conceal from themselves what they intend to do until they are well into the doing of it.

What is art? It is not decoration. It is the re-living of experience.

Neurotics, who cause less distress to themselves and their neighbours than those in the other category, are at war with their own natures. Their right hands are in conflict with their left. Psychotics, and it is those who commit purposeless crimes and prefer death to life, are at war with their environment. Right and left hands strike against the womb that carries them.

Time spent in a casino is time given to death, a foretaste of the hour when one's flesh will be diverted to the purposes of the worm and not of the will.

The principle of avoiding the unnecessary expenditure of energy has enabled the species to survive in a world full of stimuli; but it prevents the survival of the aristocracy.

The mind is its own enemy, that fights itself with the innumerable pliant and ineluctable arms of the octopus.

There is no logical reason why the camel of great art should pass through the needle of mob intelligence.