You will not easily get a man to believe that his carnal love for the woman he has made his wife is as high a love as that he feltfor his mother or sister.
Why is a door-knob deader than anything else?
The human consciousness is really homogeneous. There is no complete forgetting, even in death.
That which one cannot experience in daily life is not true for oneself.
Gods should be iridescent, like the rainbow in the storm. Man creates a God in his own image, and the gods grow old along with the men that made them... But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea, with too vast a sound to be heard.
Why doesn't the past decently bury itself, instead of sitting waiting to be admired by the present?
The final aim is not to know, but to be.... You've got to know yourself so that you can at last be yourself. "Be yourself" is the last motto.
Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul.
The picture must all come out of the artist's inside, awareness of forms and figures... It is more than memory. It is the image as it lives in the consciousness, alive like a vision, but unknown.
An artist is only an ordinary man with a greater potentiality.
I hold that the parentheses are by far the most important parts of a non-business letter.
A little morphine in all the air. It would be wonderfully refreshing for everyone.
The word arse is as much god as the word face. It must be so, otherwise you cut off your god at the waist.
Whether I get on in the world is a question; but I certainly don't get on very well with the world.
One sheds one's sicknesses in books - repeats and presents again one's emotions, to be master of them.
God how I hate new countries: They are older than the old, more sophisticated, much more conceited, only young in a certain puerile vanity more like senility than anything.
Our civilisation cannot afford to let the censor-moron loose. The censor-moron does not really hate anything but the living and growing human consciousness.
Tragedy ought really to be a great kick at misery.
I cannot be a materialist - but Oh, how is it possible that a God who speaks to all hearts can let Belgravia go laughing to a vicious luxury, and Whitechapel cursing to a filthy debauchery - such suffering, such dreadful suffering - and shall the short years of Christ's mission atone for it all?
It's not art for art's sake, it's art for my sake.
There is a brief time for sex, and a long time when sex is out of place. But when it is out of place as an activity there still should be the large and quiet space in the consciousness where it lives quiescent. Old people can have a lovely quiescent sort of sex, like apples, leaving the young quite free for their sort.
I believe that the highest virtue is to be happy, living in the greatest truth, not submitting to the falsehood of these personaltimes.
Towns oftener swamp one than carry one out onto the big ocean of life.
All vital truth contains the memory of all that for which it is not true.
Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.
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