The will to incessant creation is vulgar, betraying jealousy, envy, and ambition. Assuming that you are something, there is really nothing that you need to do-and yet you do a great deal. Above the "productive" man there is still a higher type.

Our sense of the tragic waxes and wanes with our sensuality.

Only you must have worthy foes hate, but not enemies worthy of contempt. You must be proud of your enemy.

Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent.

Assuming that rapture is nature's play with man, the Dionysian artist's creative activity is the play with rapture.

It is the evening that questions thus from within me.

Our drives are reducible to the will to power. The will to power is the ultimate fact at which we arrive.