The universe is dumb; the darkness and silence of the night take possession of it....

It is the presence of man that gives its interest to the existence of other beings; and what better object can we set before ourselves in the history of these beings, than to accept such a consideration?
Why shall we not introduce man into our work in the same place which he holds in the universe?
Why shall we not make him a common centre?
Is there in infinite space any other point from which we can with greater advantage draw those immense lines that we propose to extend to all other points?
What a vivid and softening reaction must result between man and the beings by whom he is surrounded ?...

Man is the single term from which we ought to set out, and to which we ought to trace all back, if we would please, interest, touch, even in the most arid reflections and the driest details.

If you take away my own existence and the happiness of my fellows, of what concern to me is all the rest of nature."[126] In this we hear the voice of the new time, as we do in his exclamation that the perfection of an Encyclopaedia is the work of centuries; centuries had to elapse before the foundations could be laid; centuries would have to elapse before its completion: "_mais a la poserite, et_ A L'ETRE QUI NE MEURT POINT!"[127] These exalted ideas were not a substitute for arduous labour.

In all that Diderot writes upon his magnificent undertaking, we are struck by his singular union of common sense with elevation, of simplicity with grasp, of suppleness with strength, of modesty with hopeful confidence.