Reality is not always probable, or likely.

The mathematical sciences wield their particular language made of digits and signs, no less subtle than any other.

Many people have thought of me as a thinker, as a philosopher, or even as a mystic. Well the truth is that though I have found reality perplexing enough - in fact, I find it gets more perplexing all the time - I never think of myself as a thinker.

The thought came over me that never would one full and absolute moment, containing all the others, justify my life, that all of my instants would be provisional phases, annihilators of the past turned to face the future, and that beyond the episodic, the present, the circumstantial, we were nobody.

There is no intellectual exercise which is not ultimately useless.

Writing is nothing more than a guided dream.

I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.