If The World Is A Precipitation Of

When One Begins To Reflect On Philosophy—then Philosophy Seems To Us To Be Everything, Like God, And Love. It Is A Mystical, Highly Potent, Penetrating Idea—which Ceaselessly Drives Us Inward In All Directions. The Decision To Do Philosophy—to Seek Philosophy Is The Act Of Self-liberation—the Thrust Toward Ourselves.

Many Books Are Longer Than They Seem. They Have Indeed No End. The Boredom That They Cause Is Truly Absolute And Infinite.

One Should, When Overwhelmed By The Shadow Of A Giant, Move Aside And See If The Colossal Shadow Isn't Merely That Of A Pygmy Blocking Out The Sun.

Most Observers Of The French Revolution, Especially The Clever And Noble Ones, Have Explained It As A Life-threatening And Contagious Illness. They Have Remained Standing With The Symptoms And Have Interpreted These In Manifold And Contrary Ways. Some Have Regarded It As A Merely Local Ill. The Most Ingenious Opponents Have Pressed For Castration. They Well Noticed That This Alleged Illness Is Nothing Other Than The Crisis Of Beginning Puberty.

Knowledge Is Only One Half. Faith Is The Other.