A race of altruists is necessarily a race of slaves. A race of free men is necessarily a race of egoists.

We don't call it sin today, we call it self-expression.

He who is infatuated with Man leaves persons out of account so far as that infatuation extends, and floats in an ideal, sacred interest. Man, you see, is not a person, but an ideal, a spook.

The object of the state is always the same: to limit the individual, to tame him, to subordinate him, to subjugate him.

In crime the egoist has hitherto asserted himself and mocked at the sacred; the break with the sacred, or rather of the sacred, may become general. A revolution never returns, but an immense, reckless, shameless, conscienceless, proud—crime, doesn't it rumble in the distant thunder, and don't you see how the sky grows ominously silent and gloomy?

Might is a fine thing, and useful for many purposes; for "one goes further with a handful of might than with a bagful of right."

The people is dead! Good-day, Self!