Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his friendly handshaking

When Zarathustra was alone . . . he said to his heart: "Could it be possible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that God is dead!"

It is obvious that all sense has gone out of modern marriage; which is, however, no objection to marriage but to modernity.

Tragedy is dead! Poetry itself died with it! Away, away with you, puny, stunted imitators! Away with you to Hades, and eat your fill of the old masters' crumbs!

Necessity is not a fact; it's an interpretation.

Objection, evasion, joyous distrust, and love of irony are signs of health; everything absolute belongs to pathology.

You say it is the good cause that hallows even war? I say unto you: it is the good war that hallows any cause.