The essence of all beautiful art, all great art, is gratitude.

Those with certain temperaments find no way to endure themselves except by striving towards going under.

One begins to mistrust very clever people when they become embarrassed.

But what if pleasure and pain should be so closely connected that he who wants the greatest possible amount of the one must also have the greatest possible amount of the other, that he who wants to experience the "heavenly high jubilation," must also be ready to be "sorrowful unto death"?

There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the beast of prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration. And even their lusts are self-laceration.

There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born when they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.

Exhaustion is the shortest way to equality and fraternity.