That history just unfolds, independently of a specified direction, of a goal, no one is willing to admit.

Ideas come as you walk, Nietzsche said. Walking dissipates thoughts, Shankara taught.

At this very moment, I am suffering—as we say in French, j’ai mal. This event, crucial for me, is nonexistent, even inconceivable for anyone else, for everyone else. Except for God, if that word can have a meaning.

It has been a long time since philosophers have read men's souls. It is not their task, we are told. Perhaps. But we must not be surprised if they no longer matter much to us.

I am like a broken puppet whose eyes have fallen inside.

What every man who loves his country hopes for in his inmost heart: the suppression of half his compatriots.

We change ideas like neckties.