In Knowing Ourselves To Be Unique, We

It All Depends On How We Look At Things, And Not How They Are In Themselves.

All Art Intuitively Apprehends Coming Changes In The Collective Unconsciousness.

Somewhere There Was Once A Flower, A Stone, A Crystal, A Queen, A King, A Palace, A Lover And His Beloved, And This Was Long Ago, On An Island Somewhere In The Ocean 5,000 Years Ago. . . . Such Is Love, The Mystic Flower Of The Soul. This Is The Center, The Self.

But What Will He Do When He Sees Only Too Clearly Why His Patient Is Ill; When He Sees That It Arises From His Having No Love, But Only Sexuality; No Faith, Because He Is Afraid To Grope In The Dark; No Hope, Because He Is Disillusioned By The World And By Life; And No Understanding, Because He Has Failed To Read The Meaning Of His Own Existence?

A Particularly Beautiful Woman Is A Source Of Terror. As A Rule, A Beautiful Woman Is A Terrible Disappointment.