I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my despair in seclusion; I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company.
A book lying idle on a shelf is wasted ammunition.
Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.
It is with the soul that we grasp the essence of another human being, not with the mind, nor even with the heart.
Why are we so full of restraint? Why do we not give in all directions? Is it fear of losing ourselves? Until we do lose ourselves there is no hope of finding ourselves.
The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.
All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act without benefit of experience.
The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.
Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music – the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.
Words are loneliness.
Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate, or despise, serves to defeat us in the end.
The one thing we can never get enough of is love. And the one thing we never give enough is love.
An artist is always alone – if he is an artist. No, what the artist needs is loneliness.
Whatever there be of progress in life comes not through adaptation but through daring.
We do not talk – we bludgeon one another with facts and theories gleaned from cursory readings of newspapers, magazines and digests.
Instead of asking ‘How much damage will the work in question bring about?’ why not ask ‘How much good? How much joy?’
Sin, guilt, neurosis; they are one and the same, the fruit of the tree of knowledge.
Chaos is the score upon which reality is written.
The ordinary man is involved in action, the hero acts. An immense difference.
An artist earns the right to call himself a creator only when he admits to himself that he is but an instrument.