Magic is not the art of winning, but the art of being a victor.
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As soon as a person reaches a certain level of development, as soon as he is ready to accept Power, Power insistently begins to strive to enter him.
For the Magus, battle is, essentially, his defense, while hunt is his offense. The totality of a Magus’s battles and hunts makes up his life—his war.
An encounter with the Breath of Bones is the same as encountering any corpse — unpleasant, ritually unclean, but in itself not dangerous — unless, of course, you make mistakes.
One must not be left with the impression that there is no—and cannot be—an absolute mystery in the world, for it is precisely the world’s indivisibility to intelligence that constitutes the condition for the possibility of Magic.
By absolutizing emotions to the detriment of feelings, the mind sacrifices its stability, plunging into the ecstasy of an ever-changing principle; and at the moment of the sweetest, most intense union with life it simultaneously drains the cup of death, consumed in those fiery embraces.
If excessive seriousness makes movement impossible through its rigidity, excessive flippancy renders it chaotic.
The most important biner, neutralizing which is vitally necessary for any Wayfarer, is the duality of his selfhood and sociality — the duality of “I” and “We”.