We feel in one world, we think, we give names to things in another; between the two we can establish a certain correspondence, but not bridge the gap. It was to some extent this gap.[Nous sentons dans un monde, nous pensons, nous nommons dans un autre, nous pouvons entre les deux établir une concordance mais non combler l’intervalle.]
This actual world of what is knowable, in which we are and which is in us, remains both the material and the limit of our consideration.
There are just some kind of men who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one.
The world is simply divided into two classes – those who believe the incredible, like the public – and those who do the improbable.
The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.
The whole world is now for me divided into two halves: one half is she, and there all is joy, hope, light: the other half is everything where she is not, and there is all gloom and darkness…