Moralities, ethics, laws, customs, beliefs, doctrines --these are of trifling import. All that matters is that the miraculous become the norm.

I have always looked upon decay as being just as wonderful and rich an expression of life as growth.

Reality is not protected or defended by laws, proclamations, ukases, cannons and armadas. Reality is that which is sprouting all the time out of death and disintegration.

The life of a creator is not the only life nor perhaps the most interesting which a man leads. There is a time for play and a time for work, a time for creation and a time for lying fallow. And there is a time, glorious too in its own way, when one scarcely exists, when one is a complete void. I mean -- when boredom seems the very stuff of life.

Sin, guilt, neurosis --they are one and the same, the fruit of the tree of knowledge.

In this age, which believes that there is a short cut to everything, the greatest lesson to be learned is that the most difficult way is, in the long run, the easiest.

Chaos is the score upon which reality is written.

Imagination is the voice of daring. If there is anything Godlike about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything.

What distinguishes the majority of men from the few is their inability to act according to their beliefs.

It does me good to write a letter which is not a response to a demand, a gratuitous letter, so to speak, which has accumulated in me like the waters of a reservoir.