“Time is a brisk wind, for each hour it brings something new.”

He who knows nothing, loves nothing. He who can do nothing understands nothing. He who understands nothing is worthless.

Once a disease has entered the body, all parts which are healthy must fight it: not one alone, but all. Because a disease might mean their common death. Nature knows this; and Nature attacks the disease with whatever help she can muster.

Let no man belong to another that can belong to himself.

Since nothing is so secret or hidden that it cannot be revealed, everything depends on the discovery of those things that manifest the hidden.

The most secure method, to ruin your health, is a SICK BED!

Be not another, if you can be yourself.

I am different. Let this not upset you.

However, anyone to whom this happens should not leave his room upon awakening, should speak to no-one, but remain alone and sober until everything comes back to him, and he recalls the dream.

A mortal lives not through that breath that flows in and that flows out. The source of his life is another and this causes the breath to flow.

Time is a brisk wind, for each hour it brings something new… but who can understand and measure its sharp breath, its mystery and its design?

Magic has power to experience and fathom things which are inaccessible to human reason. For magic is a great secret wisdom, just as reason is a great public folly.

We do not know it because we are fooling away our time with outward and perishing things, and are asleep in regard to that which is real within ourself.

All numbers are multiples of one, all sciences converge to a common point, all wisdom comes out of one center, and the number of wisdom is one.

But is not He who created it for the sake of the sick body more than the remedy? And is not He who cures the soul, which is more than the body, greater?

If we want to make a statement about a man’s nature on the basis of his physiognomy, we must take everything into account; it is in his distress that a man is tested, for then his nature is revealed.

For it is we who must pray for our daily bread, and if He grants it to us, it is only through our labour, our skill and preparation.

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.

My idea of exercise is a good brisk sit.

To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.

Will it, and set to work briskly.