I mistrust the satisfaction which makes a display of the possession of Infinity; that is called fatuity in philosophic terms.
If any philosopher had been asked for a definition of infinity, he might have produced some unintelligible rigmarole, but he would certainly not have been able to give a definition that had any meaning at all.
Offer unto me that which is very dear to thee — which thou holdest most covetable. Infinite are the results of such an offering.
Seek the Infinite, for that alone is Joy unlimited, imperishable, unfailing, self-sustaining, unconditioned, timeless. When you have this joy, human life becomes a paradise; the light, the grace, the power, the perfections of that which is highest in your inner consciousness, appear in your everyday life.
The poetic notion of infinity is far greater than that which is sponsored by any creed.
There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.
This moment exhibits infinite space, but there is a space also wherein all moments are infinitely exhibited, and the everlasting duration of infinite space is another region and room of joys.
Whenever we encounter the Infinite in man, however imperfectly understood, we treat it with respect. Whether in the synagogue, the mosque, the pagoda, or the wigwam, there is a hideous aspect which we execrate and a sublime aspect which we venerate. So great a subject for spiritual contemplation, such measureless dreaming — the echo of God on the human wall!
While many people are trying to be in tune with infinite, what they really are is in tune with the indefinite.