The man who lives in division is living in death. He cannot find himself because he is lost; he has ceased to be a reality. The person he believes himself to be is a bad dream.

I am beginning to realize that "sanity" is no longer a value or an end in itself. The "sanity" of modern man is about as useful to him as the huge bulk and muscles of the dinosaur. If he were a little less sane, a little more doubtful, a little more aware of his absurdities and contradictions, perhaps there might be a possibility of his survival.

When you reread your journal you find out that your newest discovery is something you already found out five years ago.

A gentle sense of humor will be alert to detect anything that savors of a pious 'act' on the part of the penitent.

But there is greater comfort in the substance of silence than in the answer to a question.

The greatest need of our time is to clean out the enormous mass of mental and emotional rubbish that clutters our minds

Our minds are like crows. They pick up everything that glitters, no matter how uncomfortable our nests get with all that metal in them.