Let man then contemplate the whole of nature in her full and lofty majesty; let him turn his gaze away from the low objects that surround him, and consider as a palace what fills the universe; let the earth seem to him, in proportion to the vast orbit that a star describes, a mere point; and let him be astonished that this vast orbit itself is but a very fine point compared with those that the stars rolling in the firmament embrace. But if our sight stops there, let the imagination pass beyond; it will grow weary of conceiving, sooner than nature of providing. All this visible space is but a slight mockery compared with the things invisible, and one may form an idea of nature's immensity, though one can form none of its true greatness.

Let a man, raised aloft, lose sight of all the objects that concern him, let him see, as from a measureless height, what fills the universe — the sun but a point; he will be astonished to find himself so small, when what he thought was immensity filled him. But if we wish to carry our view still further, let us seek him beyond all that imagination can reach; nature will supply new subjects in place of those that have escaped us.

Man is but a subject that passes away infinitely on his side, and to whom it does not belong to form an idea of what lies beyond. He has no other idea than that of his own nothingness; and for this very reason he is well worthy to be astonished at finding himself so great, as well as to love to deem himself so small.

For, after all, what is man in the infinite? Let him learn then what he is. Be he whatever he will, he always finds himself in narrow dependence. Would he know something? He must be confined to an end, and that end is enclosed within this little light that accompanies him. Nothingness is before him, nothingness behind.

Man is but a reed, the weakest in nature; but he is a thinking reed. It needs not that the whole universe arm itself to crush him. A vapor, a drop of water, suffices to kill him. But were the universe to crush him, man would still be nobler than that which slays him, because he knows that he dies, and the advantage that the universe has over him, the universe knows nothing of.

All our dignity then consists in thought. It is by thought that we must elevate ourselves, not by space and time, which we cannot fill. Let us strive, then, to think well: this is the principle of morality.

Whoever does not see the vanity of the world is himself very vain. Indeed, who fails to see it, save young people who are all amid noise, diversion, and thoughts of the future? But take away their diversion, and you will see them wither with weariness; they feel their nothingness without knowing it. It is a great evil to find oneself empty, when one is not aware of it.

Nothing is so unbearable to man as to be in complete rest, without passions, without business, without diversion, without application. He then feels his nothingness, his abandonment, his insufficiency, his dependence, his powerlessness, his emptiness. Immediately there rises from the depths of his soul weariness, gloom, sadness, grief, spite, despair.

Diversion. When I have sometimes set myself to consider the various agitations of men, and the dangers and labors where they expose themselves, I have discovered that all the unhappiness of men comes from one single thing, which is that they do not know how to remain quietly in a room. A man who has enough means to live, if he knew how to stay at home with pleasure, would not go to sea amid the tempests of fortune; he would not go to war despite its hardships; he would not seek office.

And the reason why those who dwell in the village, following the pursuits of the chase, take such pleasure in it, is that they do not feel their nothingness. The king is surrounded by persons whose only thought is to divert the king, and to prevent his thinking of himself. For he is unhappy, king as he is, if he thinks of it.

Hence games, the conversation of women, war, great offices are so eagerly sought — not for their enjoyment, because of the pains and servitudes attached to them; but because the mere sight of the pains we are spared, and of the agitations we could not be in without knowing them, is the pleasure of those who can refrain from having them.

Thus we delight in the chase not for the game, but because we are occupied by it. Happy, therefore, is he who can divert himself without toil; but that is hardly possible, and the only choice left us is to choose the least vexatious of our diversions.

There are two kinds of men: the righteous who believe themselves sinners, and the sinners who believe themselves righteous. Man is not worthy of God, but he is not incapable of being made worthy of him. The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know; we know it in a thousand things. The knowledge of God without that of our misery begets pride. The knowledge of our misery without that of God begets despair. The knowledge of Jesus Christ is the middle way; for in him we find both God and our misery.

Man is neither angel nor beast; and the misfortune is that he who would play the angel plays the beast. The greatness of man is so evident that it is even drawn from his misery; for what is great in man is that he knows himself miserable. A tree does not know itself miserable. It is then being miserable to know oneself miserable; but it is being great to know that one is miserable.