Beauty is the attractive power of perfection.

The artist is not a special kind of man, but every man is a special kind of artist.

Myth embodies the nearest approach to absolute truth that can be stated in words.

From one point of view becoming is a humiliation, and from another a royal procession.

All that is best for us comes of itself into our hands-but if we strive to overtake it, it perpetually eludes us.

It is only when the maker of things is a maker of things by vocation, and not merely holding down a job, that the price of things is approximate to their real value. . . .

Man's activity consists in either a making or doing. Both of these aspects of the active life depend for their correction upon the contemplative life (that is, the Hero).

It is the natural instinct of a child to work from within outwards; "First I think, and then I draw my think." What wasted efforts we make to teach the child to stop thinking, and only to observe!

Becoming is not a contradiction of being but the epiphany of being.

We have come to think of art and work as incompatible, or at least independent categories and have for the first time in history created an industry without art.

Industry without art is brutality.

[T]here are in fact no masses, but only ways of seeing people as masses.

Somewhere I read that human beings are the only creatures to spend the present driving themselves crazy about the future.

The response closest to the truth was probably something like 'Nothing'

It's too late. We can't win, they've gotten too powerful.

I didn't have an imaginary friend, and even if I did I'm sure it would have been derivative of something I saw on television. Optimus Prime maybe?

I think we can't feed the amount of people that are on this planet the way we are doing it.

Many people, including Buddhist monks, spend thousands of hours sitting in what they call meditation. In reality, what they're doing is thinking and ruminating upon their problems.

Meanwhile spring arrived. My old dejection passed away and gave place to the unrest which spring brings with it, full of dreams and vague hopes and desires.

Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.

It is something of a miracle that individual selfish decisions (in a market economy) must lead to a collectively efficient outcome.