I looked for great men, but all I found were the apes of their ideals.

We pay dearly for immortality: we die for it more than once during our lifetimes.

Nobody can build the bridge for you to walk across the river of life, no one but you yourself alone. There are, to be sure, countless paths and bridges and demi-gods which would carry you across this river; but only at the cost of yourself; you would pawn yourself and lose. There is in the world only one way, on which nobody can go, except you: where does it lead? Do not ask, go along with it.

And so do you suppose it must be a piece-work because it has been given to you (and could only be given to you) in pieces?

One must give value to their existence by behaving as if ones very existence were a work of art.

All rejection and negation indicates a deficiency in fertility: fundamentally, if only we were good plowland we would allow nothing to go unused, and in every thing, event, and person we would welcome manure, rain, or sunshine.

The inclination to self-depreciation, to freely accepting being robbed, being duped, and being swindled, could be the modesty of a god among men.