We Should Be Sensitive To The Thread

We Know Not Through Our Intellect But Through Our Experience.

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.

The World Is... The Natural Setting Of, And Field For, All My Thoughts And All My Explicit Perceptions.

The Full Meaning Of A Language Is Never Translatable Into Another. We May Speak Several Languages But One Of Them Always Remains The One In Which We Live. In Order Completely To Assimilate A Language It Would Be Necessary To Make The World Which It Expresses One's Own And One Never Does Belong To Two Worlds At Once.

My Hold On The Past And The Future Is Precarious And My Possession Of My Own Time Is Always Postponed Until A Stage When I May Fully Understand It, Yet This Stage Can Never Be Reached, Since It Would Be One More Moment Bounded By The Horizon Of Its Future, And Requiring In Its Turn, Further Developments In Order To Be Understood.