Ignorance (n.) can at least be tranquil when it is permitted — a peace even skepticism cannot promise.
Ignorance (n.) should not end my inquiries once I am conscious of it, but is the very thing that should arouse them.
Ignorance (n.) is invisible to the ignorant: he has no concept of his ignorance because he has none of science.
Ignorance (n.) limits what we know but never causes our errors; we err only by judging where we lack what judgment requires.
Ignorance (n.) would expand our cognition more than any meditation, if not knowing other rational beings gave us the right to assume they are just like us.
Ignorance (n.) can itself be known as a science — when critique proves a priori where the boundaries lie — or merely perceived, without knowing how far it reaches.
Ignorance (n.) is honest in the naturalist so long as he does not boast of it as a method holding the secret of drawing truth from Democritus' deep well.
Ignorance (n.) freely confessed is a weapon: it lets me repel the dogmatic opponent by showing he can know no more to deny my hopes about my nature than I can to hold them.
Ignorance (n.) of God and the future is a gift: the inscrutable wisdom through which we exist is no less worthy of veneration in what it has refused us than in what it has granted.
Ignorance (n.) shared by all is a comfort: about mere ideas the common understanding can be at its most eloquent precisely because nobody knows anything, while about nature it would have to keep quiet.