Friedrich Nietzsche

Supposing that Truth is a woman⁠—what then?

Gratitude continually flows forth, as if the most unexpected thing had happened, the gratitude of a convalescent—for convalescence was this most unexpected thing.

The third alternative is lacking: a man must be both—a philosopher.

And perhaps many a one will, like myself, recollect having sometimes called out cheeringly and not without success amid the dangers and terrors of dream-life: "It is a dream! I will dream on!"

Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for whom thou shinest!

We are unknown, we knowers, ourselves to ourselves: this has its own good reason.

We thirsted for the lightnings and great deeds; we kept as far as possible from the happiness of the weakling, from “resignation”...

Nihilism is at our door: whence comes this most gruesome of all guests to us?

At bottom, that which has kept men back most, is an æsthetic taste: they believed in the picturesque effect of truth; what they demanded of the scientist was, that he should make a strong appeal to their imagination.

It is the business of the very few to be independent; it is a privilege of the strong.

He that can forget, is cured.

The psychologist must look away from himself if he wishes to see anything at all.

Man is no longer an artist, he has become a work of art: the artistic power of all nature here reveals itself in the tremors of drunkenness to the highest gratification of the Primordial Unity.

I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.

The really great haters in the history of the world have always been priests, who are also the cleverest haters⁠—in comparison with the cleverness of priestly revenge, every other piece of cleverness is practically negligible.

Beyond the North, beyond the ice, beyond death—our life, our happiness....

What is belief? How is a belief born?

Knowledge works as an instrument of power.

Not to cleave to any person, be it even the dearest⁠—every person is a prison and also a recess.

The good men of every age are those who go to the roots of the old thoughts and bear fruit with them, the agriculturists of the spirit.