One often contradicts an opinion when what is uncongenial is really the tone in which it was conveyed.

Dead are all gods: now we want the overman to live.

The weak and misbegotten shall perish: first principle of our brotherly love. And they shall be given every assistance.

The hypocrite who always plays one and the same part ceases at last to be a hypocrite.

Men are even lazier than they are timorous, and what they fear most is the troubles with which any unconditional honesty and nudity would burden them.

Pitch-black winter nights live in my bones.

But like infection is the petty thought: it creeps and hides, and wants to be nowhere--until the whole body is decayed and withered by the petty infection... Thus spoke Zarathustra.