Chaos Is Perhaps At The Bottom Of

My Remembrance Of The Past Is A Novel I Am Constantly Recomposing; And It Would Not Be A Historical Novel, But Sheer Fiction, If The Material Events Which Mark And Ballast My Career Had Not Their Public Dates And Characters Scientifically Discoverable.

My Soul Hates The Fool Whose Only Passion Is To Live By Rule.

An Ideal Cannot Wait For Its Realization To Prove Its Validity.

The Body Is An Instrument, The Mind Its Function, The Witness And Reward Of Its Operation.

There Is A Kind Of Courtesy In Skepticism. It Would Be An Offense Against Polite Conventions To Press Our Doubts Too Far.