Magic Is Real. And Reality... It Is

Love Is The Only Principle Which Makes Life Tolerable.

To Me A Book Is A Message From The Gods To Mankind; Or, If Not, Should Never Be Published At All. A Message From The Gods Should Be Delivered At Once. It Is Damnably Blasphemous To Talk About The Autumn Season And So On. How Dare The Author Or Publisher Demand A Price For Doing His Duty, The Highest And Most Honorable To Which A Man Can Be Called?

All Phenomena Of Which We Are Aware Take Place In Our Own Minds, And Therefore The Only Thing We Have To Look At Is The Mind; Which Is A More Constant Quantity Over All The Species Of Humanity Than Is Generally Supposed.

If One Had To Worry About One's Actions In Respect Of Other People's Ideas, One Might As Well Be Buried Alive In An Antheap Or Married To An Ambitious Violinist. Whether That Man Is The Prime Minister, Modifying His Opinions To Catch Votes, Or A Bourgeois In Terror Lest Some Harmless Act Should Be Misunderstood And Outrage Some Petty Convention, That Man Is An Inferior Man And I Do Not Want To Have Anything To Do With Him Any More Than I Want To Eat Canned Salmon.

To Train The Mind To Move With The Maximum Speed And Energy, With The Utmost Possible Accuracy In The Chosen Direction, And With The Minimum Of Disturbance Or Friction. That Is Magick. To Stop The Mind Altogether. That Is Yoga.