The World Hangs On A Thin Thread,

The Underlying, Primary Psychic Reality Is So Inconceivably Complex That It Can Be Grasped Only At The Farthest Reach Of Intuition, And Then But Very Dimly. That Is Why It Needs Symbols.

One Might Expect, Perhaps, That A Man Full Of Genius Could Pasture In The Greatness Of His Own Thoughts, And Renounce The Cheap Approbation Of The Crowd Which He Despises; Yet He Succumbs To The More Powerful Impulse Of The Herd Instinct. His Searching And His Finding, His Call, Belong To The Herd.

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

The Biographies Of Great Artists Make It Abundantly Clear That The Creative Urge Is Often So Imperious That It Battens On Their Humanity And Yokes Everything To The Service Of The Work, Even At The Cost Of Health And Ordinary Human Happiness. The Unborn Work In The Psyche Of The Artist Is A Force Of Nature That Achieves Its End Either With Tyrannical Might Or With The Subtle Cunning Of Nature Herself, Quite Regardless Of The Personal Fate Of The Man Who Is Its Vehicle.

The Dynamic Principle Of Fantasy Is Play, A Characteristic Also Of The Child, And As Such It Appears Inconsistent With The Principle Of Serious Work. But Without This Playing With Fantasy No Creative Work Has Ever Yet Come To Birth. The Debt We Owe To The Play Of Imagination Is Incalculable. It Is Therefore Short-sighted To Treat Fantasy, On Account Of Its Risky Or Unacceptable Nature, As A Thing Of Little Worth.