Knowledge (n.) for our business here covers not all things, but those which concern our conduct.
Knowledge (n.) that is called great and universal is far easier to pretend to than to acquire.
Knowledge (n.) is conversant only about our own ideas, since the mind has no other immediate object.
Knowledge (n.) is supplied with chimeras wherever a man's ideas of substances disagree with the real existence of things.
Knowledge (n.) falls short not only of the reality of things but even of the extent of our own ideas.
Knowledge (n.) is the perception of the connection and agreement, disagreement, or repugnancy of any of our ideas.
Knowledge (n.) is given to us in broad daylight for only a few things — a taste, meant to excite a desire after a better state.
Knowledge (n.) in its general form is found only in our own minds, by examining our ideas, while the existence of things is known only from experience.
Knowledge (n.) too fine can cost us the use of things: eyes sharp enough to see a clock's spring could not read the hour.
Knowledge (n.) of bodies must be gleaned ear by ear from particular experiments, since we cannot grasp whole sheaves of a species at once.
Knowledge (n.) could be carried much further if men spent on discovering truth the industry they now spend colouring falsehood for a system, interest or party.
Knowledge (n.) is like sight, neither wholly necessary nor wholly voluntary: we choose where to turn our eyes, but not what we see when we look.
Knowledge (n.) taken on trust is no knowledge: he who is told the triangle's angles equal two right angles, without examining the proof, holds only a probable opinion.
Knowledge (n.) is a sailor's line: it cannot fathom all the ocean, but it is useful to know it reaches bottom where the voyage needs it and warns of shoals.
Knowledge (n.) is offered to us like a handful of blessings — and it is childish peevishness to throw them away because our hands are not big enough to grasp everything.
Knowledge (n.) that stops at our ideas, when something further is intended, is worth no more than the discourse of a man who sees things clearly in a dream and utters them with great assurance.
Knowledge (n.) is real only so far as there is a conformity between our ideas and the reality of things — and the mind, seeing nothing but its ideas, must find a criterion for that conformity.
Knowledge (n.) in its habitual form is necessary because a finite understanding thinks clearly of one thing at a time, and without it he that knew most would know but one truth.
Knowledge (n.) could never have begun if there were once no knowing being: senseless matter can no more put perception into itself than a triangle can give itself angles greater than two right ones.
Knowledge (n.) can be obscure even where the ideas are clear: a man may see triangle and right angles as clearly as any mathematician and still dimly perceive their agreement.