Sometimes with the most intense pain a paralysis of sensibility occurs. The soul disintegrates--hence the deadly frost--the free power of the mind--the shattering, ceaseless wit of this kind of despair. There is no inclination for anything any more--the person is alone, like a baleful power--as he has no connection with the rest of the world he consumes himself gradually--and in accordance with his own principle he is--misanthropic and misotheos.

Mathematics is the Life of the Gods.

Many things are too delicate to be thought; many more, to be spoken.

Many books are longer than they seem. They have indeed no end. The boredom that they cause is truly absolute and infinite.

The seat of the soul is where the inner world and the outer world meet. Where they overlap, it is in every point of the overlap.

A certain degree of solitude seems necessary to the full growth and spread of the highest mind; and therefore must a very extensive intercourse with men stifle many a holy germ, and scare away the gods, who shun the restless tumult of noisy companies and the discussion of petty interests.

We never completely comprehend ourselves, but we can do far more than comprehend.