We are funny creatures. We don't see the stars as they are, so why do we love them? They are not small gold objects, but endless fire.

Boredom is an instrument of social control. Power is the power to impose boredom, to command stasis, to combine this stasis with anguish. The real tedium, deep tedium, is seasoned with terror and with death.

Death deserves dignity.

A fool can throw a stone in a pond that 100 wise men can not get out.

It is a joy to be choked with thought.

In here, the human bosom -- mine, yours, everybody's -- there isn't just one soul. There's a lot of souls. But there are two main ones, the real soul and a pretender soul. Now! Every man realizes that he has to love something or somebody. He feels that he must go outward. 'If thou canst not love, what art thou?' Are you with me?

I don't know exactly how it's done. I let it alone a good deal.