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.

And this do I call immaculate perception of all things: to want nothing else from them, but to be allowed to lie before them as a mirror with a hundred facets.

One has to pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while one is still alive.

And so while dreams are the individual man's play with reality, the sculptor's art is (in a broader sense) the play with dreams.

His (the theologian) basic instinct of self preservation forbids him to respect reality at any point or even to let it get a word in.

Only you must have worthy foes hate, but not enemies worthy of contempt. You must be proud of your enemy.

Existence begins in every instant.