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Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better even of their blunders.
– Friedrich Nietzsche
Rejoicing in our joy, not suffering over our suffering, makes someone a friend.
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.
God is a thought who makes crooked all that is straight.
Nothing has been purchased more dearly than the little bit of reason and sense of freedom which now constitutes our pride.
A friend should be a master at guessing and keeping still: you must not want to see everything.
The Christian resolution to find the world ugly and bad has made the world ugly and bad.
I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.
A woman may very well form a friendship with a man, but for this to endure, it must be assisted by a little physical antipathy.
We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh.
It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.
One may sometimes tell a lie, but the grimace that accompanies it tells the truth.
It is always consoling to think of suicide: in that way one gets through many a bad night.
Whoever has witnessed another’s ideal becomes his inexorable judge and as it were his evil conscience.
There cannot be a God because if there were one, I could not believe that I was not He.
Undeserved praise causes more pangs of conscience later than undeserved blame, but probably only for this reason, that our power of judgment are more completely exposed by being over praised than by being unjustly underestimated.
In the consciousness of the truth he has perceived, man now sees everywhere only the awfulness or the absurdity of existence and loathing seizes him.
Arrogance on the part of the meritorious is even more offensive to us than the arrogance of those without merit: for merit itself is offensive.
Does wisdom perhaps appear on the earth as a raven which is inspired by the smell of carrion?
It is my ambition to say in ten sentences what others say in a whole book.
To be ashamed of one’s immorality: that is a step on the staircase at whose end one is also ashamed of one’s morality.
Nothing is beautiful, only man: on this piece of naivete rests all aesthetics, it is the first truth of aesthetics. Let us immediately add its second: nothing is ugly but degenerate man – the domain of aesthetic judgment is therewith defined.
Whenever I climb I am followed by a dog called ‘Ego’.
In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play.
The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.
Art is not merely an imitation of the reality of nature, but in truth a metaphysical supplement to the reality of nature, placed alongside thereof for its conquest.
What is good? All that heightens the feeling of power, the will to power, power itself in man.
Today I love myself as I love my god: who could charge me with a sin today? I know only sins against my god; but who knows my god?