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

Nothing in life possesses value except the degree of power--assuming that life itself is the will to power.

To our strongest impulse, to the tyrant in us, not only our reason but also our conscience yields.

Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day.

Just as bones, tissues, intestines, and blood vessels are enclosed in a skin that makes it possible to bear the sight of a human being, so the agitations and passions of the soul are wrapped up in vanity: it is the soul's skin.

When somebody dies we usually need reasons for consolation, not so much to alleviate our pain as to excuse ourselves for so readily feeling consoled.

I do not mean to moralise but to those who do, I would give this advice : if you mean ultimately to deprive the best things and states of all all honour and worth then continue to talk about them as you have been doing!