You have striven so hard and so long to compel life. Can’t you now slowly change and let life slowly drift into you … let the invisible life steal into you and slowly possess you.
Love is. the flower of life and blossoms unexpectedly and without law and must be plucked where it is found and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.
The great virtue in life is real courage that knows how to face facts and live beyond them.
The great virtue in life is real courage that knows how to face facts and live beyond them.
Be still when you have nothing to say when genuine passion moves you say what you’ve got to say and say it hot.
Can you understand how cruelly I feel the lack of friends who will believe in me a bit?
The mind can assert anything and pretend it has proved it. My beliefs I test on my body on my intuitional consciousness and when I get a response there then I accept.
What you intuitively desire that is possible to you.
When I read Shakespeare I am struck with wonder that such trivial people should muse and thunder in such lovely language.
I never knew how soothing trees are – many trees and patches of open sunlight and tree presences it is almost like having another being.
I got the blues thinking of the future so I left off and made some marmalade. It’s amazing how it cheers one up to shred oranges or scrub the floor.
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough Without ever having felt sorry for itself.
I got the blues thinking of the future so I left off and made some marmalade. It’s amazing how it cheers one up to shred oranges and scrub the floor.
One realm we have never conquered: the pure present.
The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a snake is strangling it, but it can’t wake up.
I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts, or my thoughts the result of my dreams.
People always make war when they say they love peace.
You don’t want to love – your eternal and abnormal craving is to be loved. You aren’t positive, you’re negative. You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with love, because you’ve got a shortage somewhere.
Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.
The fairest thing in nature, a flower, still has its roots in earth and manure.
Reason is a supple nymph, and slippery as a fish by nature. She had as leave give her kiss to an absurdity any day, as to syllogistic truth. The absurdity may turn out truer.
Death is the only pure, beautiful conclusion of a great passion.
There is only one thing that a man really wants to do, all his life; and that is, to find his way to his God, his Morning Star, salute his fellow man, and enjoy the woman who has come the long way with him.
Sex and beauty are inseparable, like life and consciousness. And the intelligence which goes with sex and beauty, and arises out of sex and beauty, is intuition.
A man has no religion who has not slowly and painfully gathered one together, adding to it, shaping it; and one’s religion is never complete and final, it seems, but must always be undergoing modification.
The only history is a mere question of one’s struggle inside oneself. But that is the joy of it. One need neither discover Americas nor conquer nations, and yet one has as great a work as Columbus or Alexander, to do.
Life is a travelling to the edge of knowledge, then a leap taken.
The great living experience for every man is his adventure into the woman. The man embraces in the woman all that is not himself, and from that one resultant, from that embrace, comes every new action.
Tragedy is like strong acid – it dissolves away all but the very gold of truth.
Never trust the artist. Trust the tale. The proper function of the critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.
Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.
The human soul needs actual beauty more than bread.
The essential function of art is moral. But a passionate, implicit morality, not didactic. A morality which changes the blood, rather than the mind.
Oh literature, oh the glorious Art, how it preys upon the marrow in our bones. It scoops the stuffing out of us, and chucks us aside. Alas!
The business of art is to reveal the relation between man and his environment.
I can’t bear art that you can walk round and admire. A book should be either a bandit or a rebel or a man in the crowd.
They say geniuses mostly have great mothers. They mostly have sad fates.
Money is our madness, our vast collective madness.
Men always do leave off really thinking, when the last bit of wild animal dies in them.
Men are freest when they are most unconscious of freedom. The shout is a rattling of chains, always was.
Ethics and equity and the principles of justice do not change with the calendar.
There is no such thing as liberty. You only change one sort of domination for another. All we can do is to choose our master.
Do not allow to slip away from you freedoms the people who came before you won with such hard knocks.