God is dead, God remains dead, and we have killed him.
The ascetic makes a necessity of virtue.
Joy wants the eternity of all things, wants deep, wants deep eternity.
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
We become aware, however, that all customs, even the hardest, grow pleasanter and milder with time, and that the severest way of life may become a habit and therefore a pleasure.
The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others.