Error is certainty's constant companion. Error is the corollary of evidence. And anything said about truth may equally well be said about error: the delusion will be no greater.

Love is made by two people in different kinds of solitude. It can be in a crowd but in an oblivious crowd.

Fear of error which everything recalls to me at every moment of the flight of my ideas, this mania for control, makes men prefer reason's imagination to the imagination of the senses. And yet it is always the imagination alone which is at work.

Can the knowledge deriving from reason even begin to compare with knowledge perceptible by sense?

Light is meaningful only in relation to darkness, and truth presupposes error. It is these mingled opposites which make it pungent, intoxicating. We only exist in terms of this conflict, in the zone where black and white clash.

Love is made by two people, in different kinds of solitude. It can be in a crowd, but in an oblivious crowd.