A man lusts to become a god... and there is murder. Murder upon murder upon murder. Why is the world of men nothing but murder?

But it is the nature of life that no emotion is meant to last forever.

Who would bring light must endure burning.

For war is never some cosmic accident descending upon a people with all the chance and inevitability of asteroids falling like fire out of the heavens, but only the will and work of man.

Self-creation is the highest art.

The true human being is the meaning of the universe. He is a dancing star. He is the exploding singularity pregnant with infinite possibilities.

We are the eyes through which the Univers observes itself and knows itself divine.

Before, you are wise after, you are wise. In between you are otherwise.

The way the universe evolves in consciousness of itself and causes itself to be. We are just this blessed consciousness, nothing more, nothing less. We are the light inside light that fuses into the atoms of our bodies we are the fire that whirls across the stellar deeps and dances all things into being.

In an infinite universe, every point in space-time is the center.

The belly is the reason that man does not easily mistake himself for a god.

What is a human being, then? A seed. A... seed? An acorn that is unafraid to destroy itself in growing into a tree.

Beliefs are the eyelids of the mind.