Philosophy is a corrective against sadness. Yet there still are people who believe in the profundity of philosophy!

Nostalgia, more than anything, gives us the shudder of our own imperfection. This is why with Chopin we feel so little like gods.

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

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

One is and remains a slave as long as one is not cured of hoping.

The mind is the result of the torments the flesh undergoes or inflicts upon itself.

What pride to discover that nothing belongs to you - what a revelation.