The world is a work of art that gives birth to itself.

What can everyone do? Praise and blame. This is human virtue, this is human madness.

One is most dishonest to one's god: he is not allowed to sin.

Whoever has character also has his typical experience, which returns over and over again.

In magnanimity there is the same amount of egoism as in revenge, but egoism of a different quality.

Has anyone...any distinct notion of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? ... There is an ecstasy such that the immese strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one's steps either rush or involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is completely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes... Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity.

Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are all of us fine sumpter asses and assesses.