I May Speak Many Languages, But There

My Hold On The Past And The Future Is Precarious And My Possession Of My Own Time Is Always Postponed Until A Stage When I May Fully Understand It, Yet This Stage Can Never Be Reached, Since It Would Be One More Moment Bounded By The Horizon Of Its Future, And Requiring In Its Turn, Further Developments In Order To Be Understood.

The Photograph Keeps Open The Instants Which The Onrush Of Time Closes Up Forthwith; It Destroys The Overtaking, The Overlapping, The Metamorphosis Of Time.

Science Manipulates Things And Gives Up Living In Them. It Makes Its Own Limited Models Of Things; Operating Upon These Indices Or Variables To Effect Whatever Transformations Are Permitted By Their Definition, It Comes Face To Face With The Real World Only At Rare Intervals. Science Is And Always Will Be That Admirably Active, Ingenious, And Bold Way Of Thinking Whose Fundamental Bias Is To Treat Everything As Though It Were An Object-in-general - As Though It Meant Nothing To Us And Yet Was Predestined For Our Own Use.

Language Transcends Us And Yet We Speak.

The World Is... The Natural Setting Of, And Field For, All My Thoughts And All My Explicit Perceptions. Truth Does Not Inhabit Only The Inner Man, Or More Accurately, There Is No Inner Man, Man Is In The World, And Only In The World Does He Know Himself.