Whatever a theologian regards as true must be false: there you have almost a criterion of truth.

The soul must have its chosen sewers to carry away its ordure. This function is performed by persons, relationships, professions, the fatherland, the world, or finally, for the really arrogant - I mean our modern pessimists - by the Good God himself.

Every day I count wasted in which there has been no dancing.

Pitch-black winter nights live in my bones.

The greatest progress that the human race has made lies in learning how to make correct inferences.

There are instances when we are like horses, we psychologists, and grow restless: we see our own shadow wavering up and down before us. A psychologist must look away from himself in order to see anything at all.

What is happening to me happens to all fruits that grow ripe. It is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter.