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The heart has its reasons which reason does not know. I wrote this in the Pensées and meant it precisely: there is a kind of knowledge that is not the product of argument. I knew that God existed in a moment of direct experience — the Night of Fire, 23 November 1654, from half past ten in the evening to half past midnight. I wrote it down and sewed the paper into my coat, and wore it against my body until I died. Not as a charm. As a record.