When I contemplated purpose I also contemplated chance and foolishness.

And it is the great noon when man stands at the midpoint of his course between beast and superman and celebrates his way to the evening as his highest hope: for it is the way to a new morning.

Those with very loud voices in their throats are nearly incapable of thinking subtle thoughts.

Never to talk about oneself is a very refined form of hypocrisy.

The will to incessant creation is vulgar, betraying jealousy, envy, and ambition. Assuming that you are something, there is really nothing that you need to do-and yet you do a great deal. Above the "productive" man there is still a higher type.

The woman and the genius do not work. Up to now, woman has been mankind's supreme luxury. In all those moments when we do our best, we do not work. Work is merely a means to these moments.

Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them.