Είμαι, λοιπόν, εγώ ένα σκεπτόμενο πράγμα, δηλαδή ένα πράγμα που αμφιβάλλει, συμφώνει, αρνείται, αντιλαμβάνεται με το πνεύμα (αν και, προς το παρόν, πολύ λίγα), αγνοεί (σίγουρα ακόμα πολλά), θέλει, δεν θέλει, και ακόμα φαντάζεται και αντιλαμβάνεται (γιατί, όπως έχω ήδη παρατηρήσει, παρότι τα πράγματα που φαντάζομαι και αισθάνομαι ίσως να μην υπάρχουν έξω από εμένα, είμαι βέβαιος ότι αυτά τα είδη σκέψης που αποκαλώ φαντασιώσεις και αισθήματα, μόνο ως είδη σκέψης, βρίσκονται μέσα μου).

I doubt;
Therefore, I think
Therefore, I am.

I see;
I take in the colours around me.
The patterns, the lights, the rainbows.
I see the night and the stars that glow.

I dream;
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I smell;
The perfumes, the roses.
The stench, the rotten and the putrid.
The aromas and delicacies;
Cooking.

I inhale;
The green, the forest, the trees.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I hear;
The noises. The people, the cheer.
The wails, the screams, the tears.
The rejoicing.
The laughter, and happiness.

I listen;
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I taste;
The sweetness, the fire.
The treats, and savoury delights.
The burnt, the spoilt and the tasteless.
The sourness and the bitterness.

I eat;
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.

I speak;
Short messages. Long speeches.
Quiet whispers. Bellowing noises.

I scream;
Therefore, I think,
Therefore, I am.

I feel;
The despair.
The anguish, the fear.
The pricks, the cuts, the injuries.
The joy. The pride. The seething.
The envy, greed, and jealousy.
The cold, the heat and the shivering.
The pain, the sickness, the ageing.

I die;
Therefore, I lived.
Therefore, I was.

The majority of men is composed of two classes, for neither of which would this be at all a befitting resolution: in the first place, of those who with more than a due confidence in their own powers, are precipitate in their judgments and want the patience requisite for orderly and circumspect thinking; whence it happens, that if men of this class once take the liberty to doubt of their accustomed opinions, and quit the beaten highway, they will never be able to thread the byway that would lead them by a shorter course, and will lose themselves and continue to wander for life; in the second place, of those who, possessed of sufficient sense or modesty to determine that there are others who excel them in the power of discriminating between truth and error, and by whom they may be instructed, ought rather to content themselves with the opinions of such than trust for more correct to their own reason.

That the reading of good books, is like the conversation with the honestest persons of the past age, who were the Authors of them, and even a studyed conversation, wherein they discover to us the best only of their thoughts. That eloquence hath forces & beauties which are incomparable.

The passions, then, can be defined as ‘perceptions, or sensations, or emotions of the soul that we refer (rapportons) particularly to the soul itself, and that are caused, sustained, and fortified by some movement of the spirits’ (§27).

For indeed when painters themselves wish to represent sirens and satyrs [20] by means of especially bizarre forms, they surely cannot assign to them utterly new natures. Rather, they simply fuse together the members of various animals. Or if perhaps they concoct something so utterly novel that nothing like it has ever been seen before (and thus is something utterly fictitious and false), yet certainly at the very least the colors from which they fashion it ought to be true.

although we very clearly see the sun, we ought not therefore to determine that it is only of the size which our sense of sight presents; and we may very distinctly imagine the head of a lion joined to the body of a goat, without being therefore shut up to the conclusion that a chimaera exists; for it is not a dictate of reason that what we thus see or imagine is in reality existent; but it plainly tells us that all our ideas or notions contain in them some truth.

I would like those who are not at all versed in anatomy to take the trouble, before reading this, to have the heart of some large animal that has lungs dissected in their presence (for such a heart is in all respects sufficiently similar to that of a man), and to be shown the two chambers or cavities that are in it.

I suppose therefore that all things I see are illusions; I believe that nothing has ever existed of everything my lying memory tells me. I think I have no senses. I believe that body, shape, extension, motion, location are functions. What is there then that can be taken as true? Perhaps only this one thing, that nothing at all is certain ... But I cannot forget that, at other times I have been deceived in sleep by similar illusions; and, attentively considering those cases, I perceive so clearly that there exist no certain marks by which the state of waking can ever be distinguished from sleep, that I feel greatly astonished; and in amazement I almost persuade myself that I am now dreaming ... I am accustomed to sleep and in my dreams to imagine the same things that lunatics imagine when awake ... There is nothing more ancient than the truth.