Annoyance is a physical malady that is in no way cured just because the annoying situation that causes it is eliminated.

God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?

Whoever does not know how to find the way to his ideal lives more frivolously and impudently than the man without an ideal.

How much disgruntled heaviness, lameness, dampness, how much beer is there in the German intelligence.

Most people are far too much occupied with themselves to be malicious.

The universe without music would be madness.

The so called unconscious inferences can be traced back to the all-preserving memory, which presents us with parallel experiences and hence already knows the consequences of an action. It is not anticipation of the effects; rather, it is the feeling: identical causes, identical effects . . .