What the philosopher is seeking is not truth, but rather the metamorphosis of the world into man.

In the consciousness of the truth he has perceived, man now sees everywhere only the awfulness or the absurdity of existence and loathing seizes him.

But thought is one thing, the deed is another, and the image of the deed still another: the wheel of causality does not roll between them.

The good displeases us when we are not up to it.

Solitude makes us tougher towards ourselves and tenderer towards others. In both ways it improves our character.

However modest one may be in one's demand for intellectual cleanliness, one cannot help feeling, when coming into contact with the New Testament, a kind of inexpressible discomfiture: for the unchecked impudence with which the least qualified want to raise their voice on the greatest problems, and even claim to be judges of such things, surpasses all measure. The shameless levity with which the most intractable problems (life, world, God, purpose of life) are spoken of, as if they were not problems at all but simply things that these little bigots knew!

But are there many honest people who will admit that it is pleasing to give pain?