Intellect Quotes
Most popular intellect quotes
We should take care not to make intellect our god; it has, of course, powerful muscles, but no personality.
My great religion is a belief in the blood, the flesh, as being wiser than the intellect. We can go wrong in our minds. But what our blood feels and believes and says, is always true. The intellect is only a bit and a bridle. What do I care about knowledge. All I want is to answer to my blood, direct, without fribbling intervention of mind, or moral, or what-not.
There is nothing more perplexing in life than to know at what point you should surrender your intellect to your faith.
In a work of art the intellect asks questions; it does not answer them.
Although our intellect always longs for clarity and certainty, our nature often finds uncertainty fascinating.
For the ordinary business of life, an ounce of habit is worth a pound of intellect.
My friend said that he opened his intellect as the sun opens the fans of a palm tree, opening for opening's sake, opening infinitely for ever. But I said that I opened my intellect as I opened my mouth, in order to shut it again on something solid.
The extravagance of intellect outstrips the extravagance of desire.
The errors of the intellect are fatal, still more dangerous than those of the heart.
Intellect annuls fate. So far as a man thinks, he is free.
The voice of the intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest until it has gained a hearing. Ultimately, after endlessly repeated rebuffs, it succeeds. This is one of the few points in which it may be optimistic about the future of mankind.
[There are] one-story intellects, two-story intellects, and three-story intellects with skylights.
Thought is the labor of the intellect, reverie its pleasure.
The naked intellect is an extraordinarily inaccurate instrument.
The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
The intellect is a very nice whirligig toy, but how people take it seriously is more than I can understand.
Our intellect is not the most subtle, the most powerful, the most appropriate, instrument for revealing the truth. It is life that, little by little, example by example, permits us to see that what is most important to our heart, or to our mind, is learned not by reasoning but through other agencies.
Interpretation is the revenge of the intellect upon art.
It belongs to the self-respect of intellect to pursue every tangle of thought to its final unravelment.
Intellect is to emotion as our clothes are to our bodies; we could not very well have civilized life without clothes, but we would be in a poor way if we had only clothes without bodies.
The intellect is not a serious thing, and never has been. It is an instrument on which one plays, that is all.
The intellect, divine as it is, and all worshipful, has a habit of lodging in the most seedy of carcasses, and often, alas, acts the cannibal among the other faculties so that often, where the Mind is biggest, the Heart, the Senses, Magnanimity, Charity, Tolerance, Kindliness, and the rest of them scarcely have room to breathe.
Your intellect may be confused, but your emotions will never lie to you.
