Psychoanalysis provides truth in an infantile, that is, a schoolboy fashion: we learn from it, roughly and hurriedly, things that scandalize us and thereby command our attention. It sometimes happens, and such is the case here, that a simplification touching upon the truth, but cheaply, is of no more value than a lie. Once again we are shown the demon and the angel, the beast and the god locked in Manichean embrace, and once again man has been pronounced, by himself, not culpable.

There are no answers, only choices.

No one reads; if someone does read, he doesn't understand; if he understands, he immediately forgets.

Man has gone out to explore other worlds and other civilizations without having explored his own labyrinth of dark passages and secret chambers, and without finding what lies behind doorways that he himself has sealed.

Where do consequences lead? Depends on the escort.

Genius is not so much a light as it is a constant awareness of the surrounding gloom.

I felt myself being invaded through and through, I crumbled, disintegrated, and only emptiness remained.