Labor is no disgrace.
The unconscious is the ocean of the unsayable, of what has been expelled from the land of language, removed as a result of ancient prohibitions.
The city of cats and the city of men exist one inside the other, but they are not the same city.
Fantasy is like jam. . . . You have to spread it on a solid piece of bread. If not, it remains a shapeless thing. . . out of which you can’t make anything.
Myth is the hidden part of every story, the buried part, the region that is still unexplored because there are as yet no words to enable us to get there. Myth is nourished by silence as well as by words.
It is within you that the ghosts acquire voices.
Melancholy is sadness that has taken on lightness.
Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last.
B2B does not mean boring marketing.
In any nation, the hypocrites do not become apparent except during times of fitnah (severe tests and hardships).
An external electric field, meeting it and passing through it, affects the negative as much as the positive quanta of the atom, and pushes the former to one side, and the latter in the other direction.