Book//mark -The Book of Lies | Aleister Crowley, 1913
“Awake from dream, the truth is known: awake from waking. The truth is: The Unknown”
“Dreams are imperfections of sleep; even so is consciousness the imperfection of waking.
Dreams are impurities in the circulation of the blood; even so it’s consciousness a disorder of life.
Dreams are without proportion, without good sense, without truth; so also is consciousness.
Awake from dream, the truth is known: awake from waking. The truth is: The Unknown”
“The more necessary anything appears to my mind, the most certain it is that I only assert a limitation.”
“This is the Night wherein I’m lost, the Love through which I am no longer”
“Keep on acquiring a taste for what is naturally repugnant; this is an unfailing source of pleasure.”
“For when all is equilibrated, when all is beheld from without all, there is joy, joy, joy that is
but one facet of a diamond, every other facet whereof is more joyful than joy itself.”
“In the wind of the mind arises the turbulence called I.
It breaks; down shower the barren thoughts.
All life is choked.
This desert is the abyss wherein the Universe.
The Stars are but thistles in that waste.
Yet this desert is but one spot accursed in a world of bliss”
“doubt is a good servant but a bad master; a perfect mistress, but a nagging wife.”
“Early to bed and early to rise Makes a man healthy and wealthy and wise: But late to watch
and early to pray Brings him across The Abyss, they say.”
“Thoughts are false.”
Aleister Crowley, The Book of Lies, 1913
Also:
The cruelest lies are often told in silence.
Robert Louis Stevenson , Virginibus Puerisque
The best lies are always at least partially true.
Laurell K. Hamilton , Blue Moon
The worst thing about being lied to is simply knowing you weren’t worth the truth.
A.Nonymous
The Book of Lies [is also Falsely Called BREAKS]
At the title page contains quote from A.L.Tennyson
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts for his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
that he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
Break, break, break by Alfred Lord Tennyson
written during early 1835 and published in 1842.