Chance (n.) rules everywhere, so blatantly that we might as well pocket our causal philosophy.
Chance (n.) is where we feel most exposed to subjective whim — and exactly there a dark a priori guides the brush, the dance-step and the word along the same lines in other minds.
Chance (n.) as a hypothesis is always an asylum ignorantiae — strange coincidences that can be counted on to repeat are by that very fact not chance.
Chance (n.) is the vast counterweight to causality — events we say merely await their causal explanation; but if causality is only relatively valid, some chance events must have no causal connection at all.
Chance (n.) can mimic design so well that, had one wanted to falsify the marriage statistics to fit astrological tradition, one could not have done it more successfully — a lusus naturae, but a very queer one.
Chance (n.) does not exist for the primitive: the crocodile that takes a bather was sent by a magician, and the snake seen by a mother's grave is obviously her soul.
Chance (n.) irritates not because it lacks causes — its causes are all too commonplace — but because it has to befall us, here and now, in an apparently arbitrary way.
Chance (n.) is what the Chinese mind attends to while it barely notices what we worship as causality; theories of cause often look pale and dusty beside chance's practical results.
Chance (n.) falls into the pattern of the moment — in tossed coins or yarrow stalks.
Chance (n.) is never blind in psychology: a seemingly casual example that surfaces during dream analysis is characteristic of the moment, and for a scientific mind there are only causal relations.
Chance (n.) so called is the law and order of psychoanalysis: one analyses whatever presents itself at the moment, and forcing a systematic course on it is a gross mistake in technique.
Chance (n.) may be where a direct act of creation shows itself, Jung suggested to Fierz in 1950; the statistical laws of nature grasp only uniform events and so describe nature only partly.