One has the idea of a stupid man as perfectly healthy and ordinary, and of illness as making one refined and clever and unusual.

A solitary, unused to speaking of what he sees and feels, has mental experiences which are at once more intense and less articulate than those of a gregarious man.

Tolerance becomes a crime when applied to evil.

For the myth is the foundation of life; it is the timeless schema, the pious formula into which life flows when it reproduces its traits out of the unconscious.

Order and simplification are the first steps toward the mastery of a subject.

Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous - to poetry. But also, it gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.

Stupid — well, there are so many kinds of stupidity, and cleverness is one of the worst.

Laughter is a sunbeam of the soul.

War is only a cowardly escape from the problems of peace.

A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.

In books we never find anything but ourselves. Strangely enough, that always gives us great pleasure, and we say the author is a genius.

Some fish love to swim upstream. Some people love to overcome challenges.

Waves crack with wicked fury against me ship's hull while ocean currents rage as the full moon rises o're the sea." (Cutthroat's Omen: A Crimson Dawn)

Beware of little expenses. A small leak will sink a great ship.

Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons.

You want to teach the next generation so they can learn a little bit faster and a little bit more so everything becomes that much better.

When you are present, when your attention is fully and intensely in the Now, Being can be felt, but it can never be understood mentally.

Jealousy is the suspicion of one's own inferiority.

New York is only 97 miles from Philadelphia but was the Big Time as no other American city has ever been.

It was being a runner that mattered, not how fast or how far I could run. The joy was in the act of running and in the journey, not in the destination.

Her grandmother used to tell her that a pink sky meant someone in the distance had just fallen in love . . . .