“The word ‘Phoenix’ may be taken as including the idea of ‘Pelican’, the bird, which is fabled to feeds its young from the blood of its own breast. Yet the two ideas, though cognate, are not identical, and ‘Phoenix’ is the more accurate symbol.” [via]
“He makes them as in Liber Legis, and strikes again Eleven times upon the Bell. With the Burin he then makes upon his breast the proper sign.
Behold this bleeding breast of mine
Gashed with the sacramental sign!” [via]
“The Magician, his breast bare, stands before an altar on which are his Burin, Bell, Thurible, and two of the Cakes of Light. In the Sign of the Enterer he reaches West across the Altar, and cries:
Hail Ra, that goest in Thy bark
Into the Caverns of the Dark!” [via]
“For a moment cease the winds of God upon the reverent head;
I lose the life of the mountain, and my soul is with the dead;
Yet am I not unaware of the splendour of the height,
Yet am I lapped in the glory of the Sun of Life and Light:—
Even so my heart looks out from the harbour of God’s breast,
Out from the shining stars where it entered into rest—
Once more it seeks in memory for reverence, not regret,
And it loves you still, my sisters! as God shall not forget.” [via]
“Yet the thought chilled me as I touched the reins.
Ah! the poor horse, he will not. So remains,
Divided in his love. With mastered tears
I stride toward the parapet. My ears
Catch his low call; and now a song complains.
The bridge is bleeding and the river hears.
Ah! God! I cannot live for pity deep
Of that heart-quelling chant—I could not sleep
Ever again to think of it. I close
My hearing with my fingers. Gently goes
A quivering foot above them as they weep—
I weep, I also, as the river flows.
Slowly the bridge subsides, and I am flung
Deep in the tears and terrors never sung.
I swim with sorrow bursting at my breast.
Yet I am cleansed, and find some little rest.
Still from my agonised unspeaking tongue
Breaks: I must go, go onward to the quest.” [via]
“Pale women sickening for some sister breast;
Lone sisterhood of voiceless melancholy
That wanders in this Hell, desiring rest
From that desire that dwells forever free,
Monstrous, a storm, a sea.” [via]
“Dream on my breast of quiet days,
Kindled of slow absorbing fire!
Sleep, while I ponder on the ways
And secret paths of my desire!
Dream, while my restless brain probes deep
The mysteries of its magic power,
The secret of forgotten sleep,
The birth of knowledge as a flower!” [via]