What for others is style, for me is soul.

A writer who is in a hurry to be understood today or tomorrow runs the danger of being misunderstood the day after tomorrow.

Everything is vain and tortures the spirit instead of calming and satisfying it.

Thus the public use of reason and freedom is nothing but a dessert, a sumptuous dessert.

Hence it happens that one takes words for concepts, and concepts for the things themselves

Physics is nothing but the ABC's. Nature is an equation with an unknown, a Hebrew word which is written only with consonants to which reason has to add the dots.

What Tarquin the Proud said in his garden with the poppy blooms was understood by the son but not by the messenger.