Nothing can work damage to me except myself; the harm that I sustain I carry about with me and never am a real sufferer except by my own fault.
All history is a record of the power of minorities, and of minorities of one.
Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art.
We love force and we care very little how it is exhibited.
Let us take our bloated nothingness out of the path of the divine circuits.
Many a profound genius, I suppose, who fills the world with fame of his exploding renowned errors, is yet everyday posed and baffled by trivial questions at his own supper table.