I feel, I think, I judge; therefore, a part of organized matter like me is capable of feeling, thinking, and judging.

My ideas are my whores.

Wandering in a vast forest at night, I have only a faint light to guide me. A stranger appears and says to me: 'My friend, you should blow out your candle in order to find your way more clearly.' This stranger is a theologian.

Those who fear the facts will forever try to discredit the fact-finders.

Time, matter, space - all, it may be, are no more than a point.

Evil always turns up in this world through some genius or other.

How easy it is to tell tales!