And those whom once my song had cheered and gladdened, If still they live, rove through the world now saddened.

Whatever liberates our spirit, without also giving us mastery over ourselves, is destructive.

Our destiny often looks like a fruit-tree in winter. Who would think from its pitiable aspect that those rigid boughs, those rough twigs could next spring again be green, bloom, and even bear fruit? Yet we hope it, we know it.

Nothing will change the fact that I cannot produce the least thing without absolute solitude.

The little man is still a man.

I am the spirit that negates. And rightly so, for all that comes to be Deserves to perish wretchedly; 'Twere better nothing would begin. Thus everything that that your terms, sin, Destruction, evil represent— That is my proper element.

Our friends show us what we can do; our enemies teach us what we must do.