He who knows not how to plant his will in things at least endows them with some meaning: that is to say, he believes that a will is already present in them (A principle of faith.)
He who despises himself esteems himself as a self-despiser.
Robinson had a servant even better than Friday: His name was Crusoe.
Not he is great who can alter matter, but he who can alter my state of mind.
I have given a name to my pain, and call it "dog".
My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendaciousness in the face of what is necessary—but love it