I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for he must succumb through the wrath of his God.

Everything about woman is a riddle, and everything about woman has a single solution: that is, pregnancy

Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world once seem to me.

But are there many honest people who will admit that it is pleasing to give pain?

We evaluate the services that anyone renders to us according to the value he puts on them, not according to the value they have for us.

What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms: in short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Truths are illusions which we have forgotten are illusions — they are metaphors that have become worn out and have been drained of sensuous force.

Life is a well of joy; but for those out of whom an upset stomach speaks, which is the father of melancholy, all wells are poisoned.