“Respect your curses, for they are the instruments of your destiny.”

You’ve got to find the force inside you.

If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s.

The psychotic drowns in the same waters in which the mystic swims with delight.

People forget facts, but they remember stories.

The quest for fire occurred not because anyone knew what the practical uses for fire would be, but because it was fascinating.

The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.

The ultimate aim of the quest must be neither release nor ecstasy for oneself, but the wisdom and the power to serve others.

Myth is much more important and true than history. History is just journalism and you know how reliable that is.

Both the artist and the lover know that perfection is not loveable. It is the clumsiness of a fault that makes a person lovable.

Myth is the secret opening through which the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos pour into human manifestation.

When you are on your path, and it is truly your path, doors will open for you where there were no doors for someone else.

I think of compassion as the fundamental religious experience and, unless that is there, you have nothing.

When you follow your bliss a kind of track opens up, that’s always been there, waiting for you. And the life that you should be living, is the one that you will be living.

When we quit thinking primarily about ourselves and our own self-preservation, we undergo a truly heroic transformation of consciousness.

The goal of life is rapture. Art is the way we experience it.

Life has no meaning. Each of us has meaning and we bring it to life. It is a waste to be asking the question when you are the answer.

I grew up cursing a lot.

If I start going back to church, I’d have to stop the smoking and drinking, and I wouldn’t be able to curse any more.

Caring can be a curse.

Pacifists become militants. Freedom fighters become tyrants. Blessings become curses. Help becomes hindrance. More becomes less.

I’m gonna put a curse on you and all your kids will be born completely naked.

Beauty cannot be recognized with a cursory glance.

Yet is there one more cursed than they all, That canker-worm, that monster, jealousie, Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall, Turning all love’s delight to misery, Through fear of losing his felicity.

You tainted me with your cursed lips apocalypse.