We have no participation in Being, because all human nature is ever midway between being born and dying, giving off only a vague image and shadow of itself, and a weak and uncertain opinion. And if you chance to fix your thoughts on trying to grasp its essence, it would be neither more nor less than if your tried to clutch water.

Travelling through the world produces a marvellous clarity in the judgment of men. We are all of us confined and enclosed within ourselves, and see no farther than the end of our nose.

He whose mouth is out of taste says the wine is flat.

My trade and art is to live.

Obsession is the wellspring of genius and madness.

I leaf through books, I do not study them. What I retain of them is something I no longer recognize as anyone else's.

This notion [skepticism] is more clearly understood by asking "What do I know?"