Nothing Determines Me From Outside, Not Because

Thinking Which Displaces, Or Otherwise Defines, The Sacred Has Been Called Atheistic, And That Philosophy Which Does Not Place It Here Or There, Like A Thing, But At The Joining Of Things And Words, Will Always Be Exposed To This Reproach Without Ever Being Touched By It.

As A Matter Of Principle, Humanity Is Precarious: Each Person Can Only Believe What He Recognizes To Be True Internally And, At The Same Time, Nobody Thinks Or Makes Up His Mind Without Already Being Caught Up In Certain Relationships With Others, Which Leads Him To Opt For A Particular Set Of Opinions.

We Know Not Through Our Intellect But Through Our Experience.

We Should Be Sensitive To The Thread Of Silence From Which The Tissue Of Speech Is Woven.

Like The Weaver, The Writer Works On The Wrong Side Of His Material. He Has Only To Do With The Language, And It Is Thus That He Suddenly Finds Himself Surrounded By Sense.