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Noble and wise men once believed in the music of the spheres: noble and wise men still continue to believe in the "moral significance of existence." But one day even this sphere-music will no longer be audible to them! They will wake up and take note that their ears were dreaming.
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To our strongest impulse, to the tyrant in us, not only our reason but also our conscience yields.
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One day soon you will meet a man, and he will rise like a phoenix from the ashes, and it is my greatest hope that he will not give you syphilis.
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The hardest thing of all is to find a black cat in a dark room, especially if there is no cat.
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If that glad message of your Bible were written in your faces, you would not need to demand belief in the authority of that book in such stiff-necked fashion.
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Is Wagner a human being at all? Is he not rather a disease? He contaminates everything he touches - he has made music sick.
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The State is the coldest of all cold monsters, and coldly it tells lies, and this lie drones on from its mouth: 'I, the State, am the people'.
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Your god is dead and only the ignorant weep. And if you claim there is a hell, then we shall meet there!
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Only idiots fail to contradict themselves three times a day.
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We are, all of us, growing volcanoes that approach the hour of their eruption; but how near or distant that is, nobody knows - not even God.
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God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?
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What is not intelligible to me is not necessarily unintelligent.
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Man must become better and more evil.
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The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die.
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A Path to Equality. - A few hours of mountain climbing turn a rascal and a saint into two pretty similar creatures. Fatigue is the shortest way to Equality and Fraternity-and, in the end, Liberty will surrender to Sleep.
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He who cannot command himself should obey. And many can command themselves, but much is still lacking before they can obey themselves.
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The most welcome joke to me is the one that takes the place of a heavy, not altogether innocuous thought, at once a cautionary hint of the finger and a flash of the eye.
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What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms: in short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Truths are illusions which we have forgotten are illusions — they are metaphors that have become worn out and have been drained of sensuous force.
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Every day I count wasted in which there has been no dancing.
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There's no defense against stupidity.
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We take a fancy to something: and scarcely have we thoroughly taken a fancy to it when that tyrant in us calls out: "Give me thatin sacrifice"--and we give it.
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The wreckage of stars - I built a world from this wreckage.
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We have no dreams at all or interesting ones. We should learn to be awake the same way - not at all or in an interesting manner.
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This crown to crown the laughing man, this rose-wreath crown: I myself have set this crown upon my head, I myself have pronounced my laughter holy.