For the thinker the world is a thought; for the wit, an image; for the enthusiast, a dream; for the inquirer, truth.

Ohne Phosphor, Kein Gedanke. Without phosphorus there would be no thoughts.

For the thinker the world is a thought; for the wit, an image; for the enthusiast, a dream; for the inquirer, truth.

Death is the surest calculation that can be made.

What we still designate as chance, merely depends on a concatenation of circumstances, the internal connection and final causes of which we have as yet been unable to unravel.

A creative force that either creates itself or arises from nothing, and which is a causa sui (its own cause), exactly resembles Baron Munchhausen, who drew himself out of the bog by taking hold of his own hair.

The useless search of philosophers for a cause of the universe is a regressus in infinitum (a stepping backwards into the infinite) and resembles climbing up an endless ladder, the recurring question as to the cause of the cause rendering the attainment of a final goal impossible.