I know playwrights who like to kid themselves into saying that their characters are so well formed that they just take over. They determine the structure of the play. By which is meant, I suspect, only that the unconscious mind has done its work so thoroughly that the play just has to be filtered through the conscious mind. But there's work to be done - and discovery to be made.
The conscious life of the mind is of small importance in comparison with its unconscious life.
The individual who is the servant of technique must be completely unconscious of himself.
The non-spatial nature of consciousness makes it possible for any apparently unconscious entity to be conscious, and vice versa.
There's a lot of unconscious activity that goes on I think in the composition of a poem.
I think with movies I am really connecting to the Joseph Campbell idea of the collective unconscious.
Poverty has a home in Africalike a quiet second skin. It may be the only place on earth where it is worn with unconscious dignity.
If the unconscious must express itself it will do so through the work that you do consciously or subconsciously, with words, with what you have to say.
The unconscious mind writes poetry if it's left alone.
We are so unconscious about our actions that we don't even realize the immense suffering we are causing to animals, the planet, and ourselves.
The unconscious wants truth. It ceases to speak to those who want something else more than truth.
The unconscious mind is way bigger than the conscious mind. Using tools to access its wisdom and self-organizing features is powerful medicine.
The possibility seems to be that what we call styles, or what we call motifs, are actually categories in the unconscious.
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.
Our systems, perhaps, are nothing more than an unconscious apology for our faults, a gigantic scaffolding whose object is to hide from us our favorite sin.
The beginning of art is not reason. It is the buried treasure of the unconscious. . . that unconscious which has more understanding than our lucidity.
The unconscious mind of man sees correctly even when conscious reason is blind and impotent.
Your freedom is a supreme value. Nothing is higher than that. But your freedom is possible only if you are not encaged in your habits, unconscious patterns of living. Change your gestalt from unconsciousness to consciousness.
The major task of the twentieth century will be to explore the unconscious, to investigate the subsoil of the mind.
All the "not readies," all the "I need time," are understandable, but only for a short while. The truth is that there is never a "completely ready," there is never a really "right time. " As with any descent to the unconscious, there comes a time when one simply hopes for the best, pinches one's nose, and jumps into the abyss. If this were not so, we would not have needed to create the words heroine, hero, or courage.