The naive which is simultaneously beautiful, poetic, and idealistic, must be both intention and instinct. The essence of intention, in this sense, is freedom. Consciousness is far from intention. There is a certain enamoured contemplation of one's own naturalness or silliness which itself is unspeakably silly. Intention does not necessarily require a profound calculation or plan.

One can only become a philosopher, but not be one. As one believes he is a philosopher, he stops being one.

Wit is an explosion of the compound spirit.

The difference between religion and morality lies simply in the classical division of things into the divine and the human, if one only interprets this correctly.

When ideas become gods, consciousness of harmony becomes devotion, humility, and hope.

With respect to ingenious subconsciousness, I think, philosophers might well rival poets.

When the author has no idea of what to reply to a critic, he then likes to say: you could not do it better anyway. This is the same as if a dogmatic philosopher reproached a skeptic for not being able to devise a system.