The opposite of every truth is just as true.

When we hate a person, what we hate in his image is something inside ourselves. Whatever isn't inside us can't excite us.

The diabolical thing about melancholy is not that it makes you ill but that it makes you conceited and shortsighted; yes almost arrogant. You lapse into bad taste, thinking of yourself as Heine's Atlas, whose shoulders support all the world's puzzles and agonies, as if thousands, lost in the same maze, did not endure the same agonies.

So you can't dance? Not at all? Not even one step? How can you say that you've taken any trouble to live when you won't even dance?

Who travels far will often see things Far removed from what was believed as Truth.

I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books. I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. My story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams -- like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves.

But your questions, which are unanswerable without exception, all spring from the same erroneous thinking.