The debt we owe to the play of imagination is incalculable.
Primitive superstition lies just below the surface of even the most tough-minded individuals, and it is precisely those who most fight against it who are the first to succumb to its suggestive effects.
Shrinking away from death is something unhealthy and abnormal which robs the second half of life of its purpose.
If there is a fear of falling, the only safety consists in deliberately jumping.
I am astonished, disappointed, pleased with myself. I am distressed, depressed, rapturous. I am all these things at once and cannot add up the sum.
Intuition is perception via the unconscious that brings forth ideas, images, new possibilities and ways out of blocked situations.
In my case Pilgrim’s Progress consisted in my having to climb down a thousand ladders until I could reach out my hand to the little clod of earth that I am.
Without this playing with fantasy no creative work has ever yet come to birth. The debt we owe to the play of the imagination is incalculable.
The collective unconscious contains the whole spiritual heritage of mankind’s evolution born anew in the brain structure of every individual.
The self is not only the centre but also the whole circumference which embraces both conscious and unconscious; it is the centre of this totality, just as the ego is the centre of consciousness.
Without freedom there can be no morality.
Where wisdom reigns, there is no conflict between thinking and feeling.
Liverpool is the pool of life; it makes life lively.
One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.
The unconscious mind of man sees correctly even when conscious reason is blind and impotent.
Whatever is rejected from the self, appears in the world as an event.
The Christian missionary may preach the gospel to the poor naked heathen, but the spiritual heathen who populate Europe have as yet heard nothing of Christianity.
Archetypes, in spite of their conservative nature, are not static but in a continuous dramatic flux. Thus the self as a monad or continuous unit would be dead. But it lives inasmuch as it splits and unites again. There is no energy without opposites!
The psychiatrist knows only too well how each of us becomes the helpless but not pitiable victim of his own sentiments. Sentimentality is the superstructure erected upon brutality.
We do not know whether Hitler is going to found a new Islam. He is already on the way; he is like Mohammad. The emotion in Germany is Islamic; warlike and Islamic. They are all drunk with wild god. That can be the historic future.