The great god Pan is dead.
To pile Pelion upon Olympus. [Lat., Pelion imposuisse Olympo.]
When Medusa looks in the mirror, she sees the Lady of Sorrows.
I've always preferred mythology to history. History is truth that becomes an illusion. Mythology is an illusion that becomes reality.
In fact, the whole of mythology could be taken as a sort of projection of the collective unconscious
Norse mythology is mystifying and fantastic and totally confusing, but you can draw a lot of inspiration from it.
Therefore, even the lover of myth is a philosopher; for myth is composed of wonder.
Old men and comets have been reverenced for the same reason: their long beards, and pretences to foretell events.
Time is the shower of Danae; each drop is golden.
Jesus is the sun and Mary is the dawn announcing his rising.
Creative people see Prometheus in a mirror, never Pandora.
I felt like one of Apollo's sacred cows- slow, dumb, and bright red.
Through dreams a door is opened to mythology, since myths are of the nature of dreams, and that, as dreams arise from an inward world unknown to waking consciousness, so do myths: so, indeed, does life.
I just always loved mythology, ever since I was a kid. Greek mythology was something I remember learning about in fourth grade, and Egypt, too, and something about both those things just clicked with me. I just thought they both were so beautiful and interesting to learn about.
I made my song a coat Covered with embroideries Out of old mythologies From heel to throat But the fools caught it, Wore it in the world's eyes As though they'd wrought it. Song, let them take it, For there's more enterprise In walking naked.
People seek escape in myth by any means at their disposal, including drugs, alcohol, meditation, and lies.
To write books is to have a certain relation with original sin. For what is a book if not a loss of innocence, an act of aggression, a repetition of our Fall?
We need the expressive arts, the ancient scribes, the storytellers, the priests. And that's where I put myself: as a storyteller. Not necessarily a high priestess, but certainly the storyteller. And I would love to be the storyteller of the tribe.
The Goddess is the Encircler, the Ground of Being; the God is That-Which-Is-Brought-Forth, her mirror image, her other pole. She is the earth; He is the grain. She is the all encompassing sky; He is the sun, her fireball. She is the Wheel; He is the traveler. He is the sacrifice of life to death that life may go on. She is the Mother and Destroyer; He is all that is born and is destroyed.
Shakespeare said that art is a mirror held up to nature. And that’s what it is. The nature is your nature, and all of these wonderful poetic images of mythology are referring to something in you. When your mind is trapped by the image out there so that you never make the reference to yourself, you have misread the image.
Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.
It is possible that Mount Olympus may have supplied the poets with the hint for saying that Jupiter obtained the kingdom of heaven, because Olympus is the common name both of the mountain and of heaven.
Death is the inseparable antecedent of life; the seed dies in order to produce the plant, and earth itself is rent asunder and dies at the birth of Dionusos. Hence the significancy of the phallus, or of its inoffensive substitute, the obelisk, rising as an emblem of resurrection by the tomb of buried Deity at Lerna or at Sais.
You know the saying, don’t kill the messenger? Hold that thought really, really close to your hearts. (Hermes)
My glowing form was so heavy, its feet sank into the top of the tank. “Sekhmet!” I yelled. The lioness whirled and snarled, trying to locate my voice. “Up here, kitty!” I called. She spotted me and her ears went back. “Horus?” ‘Unless you know another guy with a falcon head.
