They climb the mountain like beasts, stupid and sweating; it seems that no one bothered to tell them that there are beautiful vistas along the way.

We attack not only to hurt someone, to defeat him, but perhaps also simply to become conscious of our own strength.

Man is something to be surpassed.

I notice that Autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature.

I need solitude, which is to say, recovery, return to my self, the breath of a free, light, playful air.

Unexplained, obscure matters are regarded as more important than explained, clear ones.

Watch them clamber, these swift monkeys! They clamber over one another and thus drag one another into the mud and the depth. They all want to get to the throne: that is their madness — as if happiness sat on the throne. Often, mud sits on the throne — and often the throne also on mud. Mad they all appear to me, clambering monkeys and overardent. Foul smells their idol, the cold monster: foul, they smell to me altogether, these idolators.