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We often think that language mirrors the world in which we live, and I find that's not true. The language actually makes the world in which we live. Language is not - I mean, things don't have any mutable value by themselves; we ascribe them a value.

Language is an intrinsic part of who we are and what has, for good or evil, happened to us.

Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.

It is quite an illusion to imagine that one adjusts to reality essentially without the use of language and that language is merely an incidental means of solving specific problems of communication or reflection.

The real being of language is that into which we are taken up when we hear it - what is said.

Language and identity are so fundamentally intertwined. You peel back all the layers in terms of what we wear and what we eat and all the things that mark us, and in the end, what we have are our words.

The more language is a living operation, the less we are aware of it. Thus it follows from the self-forgetfulness of language that its real being consists in what is said in it.

Language is to the mind more than light is to the eye.

Language is an archaeological vehicle... the language we speak is a whole palimpsest of human effort and history.

Language is froth on the surface of thought.