The king dead is a living god.

Subjective conscious mind is an analog of what is called the real world. It is built up with a vocabulary or lexical field whose terms are all metaphors or analogs of behavior in the physical world.

Poetry begins as the divine speech of the bicameral mind. Then, as the bicameral mind breaks down, there remain prophets.

Indeed, it is sometimes almost as if the problem had to be forgotten to be solved.

We can only know in the nervous system what we have known in behavior first.

Consciousness is always open to many possibilities because it involves play. It is always an adventure.

The mind is still haunted with its old unconscious ways; it broods on lost authorities; and the yearning, the deep and hollowing yearning for divine volition and service is with us still.

The importance of writing in the breakdown of the bicameral voices is tremendously important. What had to be spoken is now silent and carved upon a stone to be taken in visually.

I shall state my thesis plain. The first poets were gods. Poetry began with the bicameral mind.

There is no such thing as a complete consciousness.

Idolatry is still a socially cohesive force - its original function.

I imagined I was God for a millisecond And became speechless for a long time.

People who honestly mean to be true really contradict themselves much more rarely than those who try to be "consistent."

If what I do prove well, it won't advance. They'll say it's stolen, or else it was by chance.

Everyone expects us to have a sense of urgency for life's big things. Life measures us by how we engage ourselves in the little things.

Not the absorption capacity of the land, but the creative ability of a people, is the true yardstick with which we can measure the immigration potentialities of the land.

It'd be fun to rip Khloe's pubes out one by one.

Dependency arguments often come from elites - either aid agencies or governments - and say something about attitudes to poor people.

Every once in a while I have this thought, we've got to piss off the religious people. How are we going to do that?

Scratch any father, you find / Someone chock-full of qualms and romantic terrors, / Believing change is a threat.

Indignation at literary wrongs I leave to men born under happier stars. I cannot afford it.