The Press, The Machine, The Railway, The

It Is The Most Sensual Men Who Need To Flee Women And Torment Their Bodies.

Truth Is Only An Illusion We Have Forgotten Is An Illusion.

Whoever No Longer Finds Greatness In God No Longer Finds It Anywhere--he Must Either Deny It Or Create It.

What Is Not Intelligible To Me Is Not Necessarily Unintelligent

The Unlucky Hand Dealt To Clear And Precise Writers Is That People Assume They Are Superficial And So Do Not Go To Any Trouble Inreading Them: And The Lucky Hand Dealt To Unclear Ones Is That The Reader Does Go To Some Trouble And Then Attributes The Pleasure He Experiences In His Own Zeal To Them.