Good books tell the truth, even when they're about things that never have been and never will be. They're truthful in a different way

Man does not create gods, in spite of appearances. The times, the age, impose them on him. Man can serve his age or rebel against it, but the target of his cooperation or rebellion comes to him from outside.

I have to admit that he was not bad at combinatorial analysis - a branch, however, that even then I considered to be dried up.

Behind every glorious facade there is always hidden something ugly.

I had no hope. Yet expectation lived on in me, the last thing she had left behind. What further consummations, mockeries, torments did I still anticipate? I had no idea as I abided in the unshaken belief that the time of cruel wonders was not yet over.

Science explains the world, but only Art can reconcile us to it.

For what are myths if not the imposing of order on phenomena that do not possess order in themselves? And all myths, however they differ from philosophical systems and scientific theories, share this with them, that they negate the principle of randomness in the world.