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

When Zarathustra was alone . . . he said to his heart: "Could it be possible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that God is dead!"

It is hard enough to remember my opinions, without also remembering my reasons for them!

The hypocrite who always plays one and the same part ceases at last to be a hypocrite.

There is nothing we like to communicate to others as much as the seal of secrecy together with what lies under it.

What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what there is to love in man is that he is a going-over and a going-under.

We must understand how to hide in darkness in order to escape the gnat-swarms of utterly annoying admirers.