When I see the blind and wretched state of men, when I survey the whole universe in its deadness, and man left to himself with no light, as though lost in this corner of the universe without knowing who put him there, what he has to do, or what will become of him when he dies, incapable of knowing anything, I am moved to terror, like a man transported in his sleep to some terrifying desert island, who wakes up quite lost, with no means of escape. Then I marvel that so wretched a state does not drive people to despair.

We view things not only from different sides, but with different eyes; we have no wish to find them alike.

Thus so wretched is man that he would weary even without any cause for weariness... and so frivolous is he that, though full of a thousand reasons for weariness, the least thing, such as playing billiards or hitting a ball, is sufficient enough to amuse him.

Beauty is a harmonious relation between something in our nature and the quality of the object which delights us.

All the miseries of mankind come from one thing, not knowing how to remain alone.

If our condition were truly happy, we would not need diversion from thinking of it in order to make ourselves happy.

If I had more time I would write a shorter letter.