Is this love - this easy generosity, this sense of being understood at last, of not having to pretend?

I am twenty years old. To a world-wise adult, I am little more than a child. To any child, however, I am old enough to be distrusted, to be excluded forever from the magical community of the short and beardless.

For scholars and laymen alike it is not philosophy but active experience in mathematics itself that can alone answer the question: What is mathematics?

Language always betrays us, tells the truth when we want to lie, and dissolves into formlessness when we would most like to be precise.

Written By Jeanette Winterson

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