Behind each woman rises the austere, sacred and mysterious face of Aphrodite. — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share Image
It was certainly not this mummified and outrageously painted old woman he was seeing before him, but the entire "female species," as it was his custom to call women. The individual disappeared, the features were obliterated, whether young or senile,… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share Image
“We gaze with perplexity at the highest part of the spiral of force that governs the Universe. And we call it God. We could… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
I collect my tools: sight, smell, touch, taste, hearing, intellect. Night has fallen... — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
Everything in this world has a hidden meaning, I thought. Men, animals, trees, stars, they are all hieroglyphics; woe to anyone who begins to… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
I possess no weapon but love. With that I have come to do battle. Help me! — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
Today, any action anywhere on earth has an immediate repercussion on all five continents. News of a victory of the Eastern armies in Morocco… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
“You have everything but one thing: madness. A man needs a little madness or else - he never dares cut the rope and be… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
“A man needs a little madness, or else... he never dares cut the rope and be free.” — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
There's a devil inside me which cries, "You're not the son of the Carpenter, you're the son of King David! You are not a… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
Lions and Lambs, love and force, light and fire, good and evil: all things climb the same mountain, the mountain of God. — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
I say one thing, you write another, and those who read you understand still something else! I say: cross, death, kingdom of heaven, God...and… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
“No, you're not free," he said. "The string you're tied to is perhaps no longer than other people's. That's all. You're on a long… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
The masses do not see the Sirens. They do not hear songs in the air. Blind, deaf, stooping, they pull at their oars in… — Nikos Kazantzakis Copy Share
