Just As We Tend To Assume That

In The End, The Only Events Of My Life Worth Telling Are Those When The Imperishable World Erupted Into This Transitory One All Other Memories Of Travels, People And My Surroundings Have Paled Beside These Interior Happenings But My Encounters With The 'other' Reality, My Bouts With The Unconscious, Are Indelibly Engraved On My Memory. In That Realm There Has Always Been Wealth In Abundance, And Everything Else Has Lost Importance By Comparison.

The Spirit Is The Life Of The Body Seen From Within, And The Body The Outward Manifestation Of The Life Of The Spirit-the Two Being Really One.

Life Calls Us Forth To Independence, And Anyone Who Does Not Heed This Call Because Of Childish Laziness Or Timidity Is Threatened With Neurosis. And Once This Has Broken Out, It Becomes An Increasingly Valid Reason For Running Away From Life.

Those Who Look Outside, Dream. Those Who Look Inside, Awaken.

But We Must Not Forget That Only A Very Few People Are Artists In Life; That The Art Of Life Is The Most Distinguished And Rarest Of All The Arts.