Haggard am I, an hyaena; I hunger and howl. Men think it laughter — ha! ha! ha!
There is nothing movable or immovable under the firmament of heaven on which I may write the symbols of the secret of my soul.
Yea, though I were lowered by ropes into the utmost Caverns and Vaults of Eternity, there is no word to express even the first whisper of the Initiator in mine ear: yea, I abhor birth, ululating lamentations of Night!
Agony! Agony! the Light within me breeds veils; the song within be dumbness.
God! in what prism may any man analyse my Light?
Immortal are the adepts; and yet they die — They die of SHAME unspeakable; They die as the Gods die, for SORROW.
Wilt thou endure unto The End, O FRATER PERDURABO, O Lamp in The Abyss? Thou hast the Keystone of the Royal Arch; yet the Apprentices, instead of making bricks, put the straws in their hair, and think they are Jesus Christ!
O sublime tragedy and comedy of THE GREAT WORK!