Art is the great stimulus to life.

There are slavish souls who carry their appreciation for favors done them so far that they strangle themselves with the rope of gratitude.

In the knowledge of truth, what really matters is the possession of it, not the impulse under which it was sought.

one does not only wish to be understood when one writes; one wishes just as surely not to be understood.

What does it matter whether I am shown to be right! I am right too much!--And he who laughs best today will also laugh last.

The most intelligent men, like the strongest, find their happiness where others would find only disaster: in the labyrinth, in being hard with themselves and with others, in effort; their delight is self-mastery; in them asceticism becomes second nature, a necessity, as instinct.

How can anyone become a thinker unless he spends at least a third of every day away from passions, people, and books?