The real nature of our predicament is completely opaque to us.

We are part of a symbiotic relationship with something which disguises itself as an extra-terrestrial invasion so as not to alarm us.

It's as though a certain level of intoxication with the mushroom is the precondition for being able to communicate, but is not itself enough.

Nature is not mute, it is a man who is deaf.

What we call imagination is actually the universal library of what's real. You couldn’t imagine it if it weren’t real somewhere, sometime.

The drug may not be toxic, but you may be self-toxic, and you may discover this in the drug experience.

We have changed. We are no longer, as I said, bipedal monkeys. We are instead a kind of cybernetic coral reef of organic components and inorganic technological components.