The God to whom depth in philosophy bring back men's minds is far from being the same from whom a little philosophy estranges them

Art is a delayed echo.

What is false in the science of facts may be true in the science of values.

Our dignity is not in what we do, but what we understand.

The line between what is known scientifically and what has to be assumed in order to support knowledge is impossible to draw. Memory itself is an internal rumour.

There are books in which the footnotes, or the comments scrawled by some reader's hand in the margin, are more interesting than the text. The world is one of those books.

It is a revenge the devil sometimes takes upon the virtuous, that he entraps them by the force of the very passion they have suppressed and think themselves superior to.