Man finally knows that he is alone in the indifferent immensity of the Universe, from which he emerged by accident.
Man is abandoned on earth in the midst of his infinite responsibilities, without help, with no aim but what he sets himself.
Heresy is the lifeblood of religions. It is faith that begets heresies. There are no heresies in a dead religion.
Language is our body and our breath, our world and our thought, our perception and even out unconscious.
Every man has seen the wall that limits his mind.
Life is a loom, weaving illusion.
We live ruins amid ruins.
The whole life of the philosopher is a preparation for death.
Equilibrium is the profoundest tendency of all human activity.
Making fun of philosophy is really philosophising.
No good poem, however confessional it may be, is just a self-expression. Who on earth would claim that the pearl expresses the oyster?
There can be no progress-real, moral prgress-except in the individual and by the individual himself.
We can stand only a certain amount of unhappiness; anything beyond that annihilates us or passes us by, leaving us apathethetic.
Selfness is an essential fact of life. The thought of nonselfness, precise sameness is terrifying.
Science is a cemetary of dead ideas.
History is neither more nor less than biography on a large scale.
The impartiality of history is not that of the mirror, which merely reflects objects, but of the judge, who sees, listens, and decides.
History, we know, is apt to repeat itself.
Sin writes histories, goodness is silent. [Ger., Das Uebel macht eine Geschichte und das Gute keine.]
Truth comes to us from the past, as gold is washed down from the mountains of Sierra Nevada, in minute but precious particles, and intermixed with infinite alloy, the debris of the centuries.
This I hold to be the chief office of history, to rescue virtuous actions from the oblivion to which a want of records would consign them, and that men should feel a dread of being considered infamous in the opinions of posterity, from their depraved expressions and base actions.
The truth has never been told about women in history: that everywhere man has gone woman has gone too, and what he has done she has done also. Women are ignorant of their own past and ignorant of their own importance in that past.
The mystery of history is an insoluble problem.
Because history is only an aggregate of personal hostilities, personal prejudices, personal blindness and irrationality, there are times when we have to live against it.
History is clarified experience.
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