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.

No one dies of fatal truths nowadays: there are too many antidotes.

Having a talent is not enough: one must also have your permission to have it--right, my friends?

To forget one's purpose is the commonest form of stupidity.

Love of one is a piece of barbarism: for it is practised at the expense of all others. Love of God likewise.

Moral contempt is a far greater indignity and insult than any kind of crime.

Indeed, at hearing the news that 'the old god is dead', we philosophers and 'free spirits' feel illuminated by a new dawn; our heart overflows with gratitude, amazement, forebodings, expectation - finally the horizon seems clear again, even if not bright; finally our ships may set out again, set out to face any danger; every daring of the lover of knowledge is allowed again; the sea, our sea, lies open again; maybe there has never been such an 'open sea'.