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.
Ours is an excessively conscious age. We know so much, we feel so little.
It is a fine thing to establish one's own religion in one's heart, not to be dependent on tradition and second-hand ideals. Life will seem to you, later, not a lesser, but a greater thing.
For man, as for flower and beast and bird, the supreme triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive.
Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved.
Ethics and equity and the principles of justice do not change with the calendar.
How beautiful maleness is, if it finds its right expression.
One must learn to love, and go through a good deal of suffering to get to it... and the journey is always towards the other soul.
Death is the only pure, beautiful conclusion of a great passion.
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.
It's bad taste to be wise all the time, like being at a perpetual funeral.
Money is our madness, our vast collective madness.
Consciousness is an end in itself. We torture ourselves getting somewhere, and when we get there it is nowhere, for there is nowhere to get to.
One can no longer live with people: it is too hideous and nauseating. Owners and owned, they are like the two sides of a ghastly disease.
My whole working philosophy is that the only stable happiness for mankind is that it shall live married in blessed union to woman-kind - intimacy, physical and psychical between a man and his wife. I wish to add that my state of bliss is by no means perfect.
Do come back and draw the ferrets, they are the most lovely noble darlings in the world.
The profoundest of all sensualities is the sense of truth and the next deepest sensual experience is the sense of justice.
Sentimentalism is the working off on yourself of feelings you haven't really got.
The essential function of art is moral. But a passionate, implicit morality, not didactic. A morality which changes the blood, rather than the mind.
God doesn't know things. He is things.
The human consciousness is really homogeneous. There is no complete forgetting, even in death.
But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.
I prefer unlucky things. Luck is vulgar. Who wants what luck would bring? I don't.
If a woman hasn't got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she's a dry stick as a rule.
The only justice is to follow the sincere intuition of the soul, angry or gentle. Anger is just, and pity is just, but judgement is never just.
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