Life is that which must overcome itself again and again

Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me.

Nothing has been purchased more dearly than the little bit of reason and sense of freedom which now constitutes our pride.

This world is the will to power and nothing besides!

The soul must have its chosen sewers to carry away its ordure. This function is performed by persons, relationships, professions, the fatherland, the world, or finally, for the really arrogant - I mean our modern pessimists - by the Good God himself.

Not joy is the mother of dissipation, but joylessness.

Memory says, 'I did that.' Pride replies, 'I could not have done that.' Eventually, memory yields.