The press, the machine, the railway, the telegraph are premises whose thousand-year conclusion no one has yet dared to draw.

What good is all this free-thinking, modernity, and turncoat flexibility if at some gut level you are still a Christian, a Catholic, and even a priest!

Against boredom even gods struggle in vain.

In this state one enriches everything out of one's own fullness: whatever one sees, whatever wills is seen swelled, taut, strong, overloaded with strength. A man in this state transforms things until they mirror his power—until they are reflections of his perfection. This having to transform into perfection is—art.

Even truthfulness is but one means to knowledge, a ladder--but not the ladder.

And I offer you this parable: Not a few who sought to cast out their devil entered into the swine themselves.

The lack of closeness among friends is a fault that cannot be reprimanded without becoming incurable.