It is the great triumph of genius to make the common appear novel.

We blame equally him who is too proud to put a proper value on his own merit and him who prizes too highly his spurious worth.

Thank God when he oppresses you, and again when he releases you.

Every man must form himself as a particular being, seeking, however, to attain that general idea of which all mankind are constituents.

This being busied with thoughts of immortality is for the noble classes and especially for women with nothing to do. A solid person, though, someone who already intends to be something worthy here, and who therefore has to strive daily, has to struggle and work, gives the world to come a rest.

Is it not enough that we cannot make one another happy, must we also rob one another of the pleasures that any heart may permit itself now and then? And name me a person who in a bad mood will be decent enough to hide it, to bear it alone, without destroying the joy around him. Is it not rather an inner dissatisfaction with our own unworthiness, a dislike of ourselves that is always associated with envy aggravated by foolish conceit? We see people happy and not made happy by us, and that is unbearable.

The way you see people is the way you treat them, and the way you treat them is what they become.