I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going, and an arrow of longing.

What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives acts and experiences otherwise than we do?

The finest and healthiest thing about science is, as in the mountains, the brisk air blowing around in it.--The spiritually delicate (such as artists) shun and slander science owing to this air.

He who bestows something great receives no gratitude; for in accepting it the recipient has already been weighed down too much.

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'.

Many find their heart when they have lost their head.

The world is a work of art that gives birth to itself.