If the true is what is grounded, then the ground is not true, nor yet false.

If someone asked us 'but is that true?' we might say "yes" to him; and if he demanded grounds we might say "I can't give you any grounds, but if you learn more you too will think the same."

What I hold fast to is not one proposition but a nest of propositions.

At the core of all well-founded belief, lies belief that is unfounded.

My aim is: to teach you to pass from a piece of disguised nonsense to something that is patent nonsense.

"Everything is already there in...." How does it come about that [an] arrow points? Doesn't it seem to carry in it something besides itself? - "No, not the dead line on paper; only the psychical thing, the meaning, can do that." - That is both true and false. The arrow points only in the application that a living being makes of it.

Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination.

Our language can be seen as an ancient city: a maze of little streets and squares, of old and new houses, and of houses with additions from various periods; and this surrounded by a multitude of new boroughs with straight regular streets and uniform houses.

For a large class of cases - though not for all - in which we employ the word meaning it can be explained thus: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

Don't say: "They must have something in common, or they would not be called 'games'" but look and see whether there is anything common to all. For if you look at them, you won't see something that is common to all, but similarities, affinities, and a whole series of them at that.

Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of our language.

Like everything metaphysical the harmony between thought and reality is to be found in the grammar of the language.

What we do is to bring words back from their metaphysical to their everyday use.

What we are destroying is nothing but houses of cards and we are clearing up the ground of language on which they stood.

Your questions refer to words; so I have to talk about words. You say: The point isn't the word, but its meaning, and you think of the meaning as a thing of the same kind as the word, though also different from the word. Here the word, there the meaning.

Philosophy may in no way interfere with the actual use of language; it can in the end only describe it.

The real discovery is the one which enables me to stop doing philosophy when I want to. The one that gives philosophy peace, so that it is no longer tormented by questions which bring itself into question.

To obey a rule, to make a report, to give an order, to play a game of chess, are customs.

If I have exhausted the justifications, I have reached bedrock and my spade is turned. Then I am inclined to say: "This is simply what I do."

When I obey a rule, I do not choose. I obey the rule blindly.

So in the end when one is doing philosophy one gets to the point where one would like just to emit an inarticulate sound.

Knowledge is in the end based on acknowledgement.

A pupil and a teacher. The pupil will not let anything be explained to him, for he continually interrupts with doubts, for instance as to the existence of things, the meaning for words, etc. The teacher says "Stop interrupting me and do as I tell you. So far your doubts don't make sense at all."

If you want to go down deep you do not need to travel far; indeed, you don't have to leave your most immediate and familiar surroundings.

People nowadays think that scientists exist to instruct them, poets, musicians, etc. to give them pleasure. The idea that these have something to teach them - that does not occur to them.

Aim at being loved without being admired.

Our greatest stupidities may be very wise.

Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself.

In philosophy the race is to the one who can run slowest-the one who crosses the finish line last.

There is no more light in a genius than in any other honest man-but he has a particular kind of lens to concentrate this light into a burning point.

The truth can be spoken only by someone who is already at home in it; not by someone who still lives in untruthfulness, and does no more than reach out towards it from within untruthfulness.

A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that's unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push it.

A teacher who can show good, or indeed astounding results while he is teaching, is still not on that account a good teacher, for it may be that, while his pupils are under his immediate influence, he raises them to a level which is not natural to them, without developing their own capacities for work at this level, so that they immediately decline again once the teacher leaves the schoolroom.

A philosopher is a man who has to cure many intellectual diseases in himself before he can arrive at the notions of common sense.

Courage, not cleverness; not even inspiration, is the grain of mustard that grows up to be a great tree.

It is not by recognizing the want of courage in someone else that you acquire courage yourself.

You can't be reluctant to give up your lie and still tell the truth.

Worte sind Taten. Words are deeds.

If people did not sometimes do silly things, nothing intelligent would ever get done.

I sit astride life like a bad rider on a horse. I only owe it to the horse's good nature that I am not thrown off at this very moment.

Resting on your laurels is as dangerous as resting when you are walking in the snow. You doze off and die in your sleep.

Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself.

The aspects of things that are most important for us are hidden because of their simplicity and familiarity. (One is unable to notice something - because it is always before one's eyes.) The real foundations of his enquiry do not strike a man at all. Unless that fact has at some time struck him. - And this means: we fail to be struck by what, once seen, is most striking and most powerful.

I believe it might interest a philosopher, one who can think himself, to read my notes. For even if I have hit the mark only rarely, he would recognize what targets I had been ceaselessly aiming at.

I am sitting with a philosopher in the garden; he says again and again "I know that that's a tree", pointing to a tree that is near us. Someone else arrives and hears this, and I tell them: "This fellow isn't insane. We are only doing philosophy."

At the end of reasons comes persuasion.

You get tragedy where the tree, instead of bending, breaks.

A new word is like a fresh seed sown on the ground of the discussion.

Man has to awaken to wonder - and so perhaps do peoples. Science is a way of sending him to sleep again.

If someone is merely ahead of his time, it will catch up to him one day.