Poetry is the mother-tongue of the human race.

The weakness of ourselves and of our reason makes us see flaws in beauties by making us consider everything piece by piece.

Nature is a book, a letter, a fairy tale (in the philosophical sense) or whatever you want to call it.

Not only the entire ability to think rests on language... but language is also the crux of the misunderstanding of reason with itself.

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

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

Every phenomenon of nature was a word, - the sign, symbol and pledge of a new, mysterious, inexpressible but all the more intimate union, participation and community of divine energies and ideas.