A sudden silence in the middle of a conversation suddenly brings us back to essentials: it reveals how dearly we must pay for the invention of speech.

We understand God by everything in ourselves that is fragmentary, incomplete, and inopportune.

"The Holy Ghost," Luther instructs us, "is not a skeptic." Not everyone can be, and that is really too bad.

In the hours without sleep, each moment is so full and so vacant that it suggests itself as a rival of Time.

Were we to undertake an exhaustive self-scrutiny, disgust would paralyze us, we would be doomed to a thankless existence.

To think is to take a cunning revenge in which we camouflage our baseness and conceal our lower instincts.

The need for novelty is the characteristic of an alienated gorilla.