When a man reaches his maturity in understanding and in years, the feeling comes over him that his father was wrong to beget him.

In intercourse with scholars and artists one readily makes mistakes of opposite kinds: in a remarkable scholar one not infrequently finds a mediocre man; and often, even in a mediocre artist, one finds a very remarkable man.

The desire to annoy no one, to harm no one, can equally well be the sign of a just as of an anxious disposition.

The truthful man ends up realizing that he always lies.

In morality, man treats himself not as individuum but as dividuum.

A man far oftener appears to have a decided character from persistently following his temperament than from persistently following his principles.

Art is essentially the affirmation, the blessing, and the deification of existence.