There Is Nothing In Philosophy Which Could

The Present Contains Nothing More Than The Past, And What Is Found In The Effect Was Already In The Cause.

When It Is Said That An Object Occupies A Large Space In The Soul Or Even That It Fills It Entirely, We Ought To Understand By This Simply That Its Image Has Altered The Shade Of A Thousand Perceptions Or Memories, And That In This Sense It Pervades Them, Although It Does Not Itself Come Into View.

It Is The Very Essence Of Intelligence To Coordinate Means With A View To A Remote End, And To Undertake What It Does Not Feel Absolutely Sure Of Carrying Out.

An Absolute Can Only Be Given In An Intuition, While All The Rest Has To Do With Analysis. We Call Intuition Here The Sympathy By Which One Is Transported Into The Interior Of An Object In Order To Coincide With What There Is Unique Andconsequently Inexpressible In It. Analysis, On The Contrary, Is The Operation Which Reduces The Object To Elements Already Known.

Laughter Appears To Stand In Need Of An Echo, Listen To It Carefully: It Is Not An Articulate, Clear, Well-defined Sound; It Is Something Which Would Fain Be Prolonged By Reverberating From One To Another, Something Beginning With A Crash, To Continue In Successive Rumblings, Like Thunder In A Mountain.