No one dies of fatal truths nowadays: there are too many antidotes.

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.

Great things demand that we either remain silent about them or speak in a great manner: in a great manner, that is-cynically and with innocence.

The higher its type, the more rarely a thing succeeds.

What doesn't kill you make you stronger.

What really raises one's indignation against suffering is not suffering intrinsically, but the senselessness of suffering

Every profound spirit needs a mask: even more, around every profound spirit a mask is continually growing.