When a scholar of the old culture vows no longer to have anything to do with men who believe in progress, he is right. For the old culture has its greatness and goodness behind it, and an historical education forces one to admit that it can never again be fresh.

Our drives are reducible to the will to power. The will to power is the ultimate fact at which we arrive.

Nobody thanks a witty man for politeness when he puts himself on a par with a society in which it would not be polite to show one's wit.

We are praised or blamed, as the one or the other may be expedient, for displaying to advantage our power of discernment.

Many a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his friend's emancipator.

Just as soon as we notice that someone has to force himself to pay attention when dealing and talking with us, we have a valid demonstration that he does not love us or that he does not love us anymore.

Robinson had a servant even better than Friday: His name was Crusoe.