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What is happening to me happens to all fruits that grow ripe. It is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter.
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Did you ever say "yes" to a pleasure? oh my friends, then you also said yes to all pain. all things are linked, entwined, in love with one another.
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A soul which knows that it is loved, but does not itself love, betrays its sediment: its dregs come up.
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We are franker towards others than towards ourselves.
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Whether a man hides his bad qualities and vices or confesses them openly, his vanity wants to gain an advantage by it in both cases: just note how subtly he distinguishes between those he will hide his bad qualities from and those he will face honestly and candidly.
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Of what is great one must either be silent or speak with greatness. With greatness--that means cynically and with innocence.
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By losing your goal, You have lost your way.
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But let me open up my heart to you completely, my friends: if there were gods, how could I bear not being a god! Hence, there areno gods. I drew this conclusion, to be sure--but now it draws me.
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Indeed, what forces us at all to suppose that there is an essential opposition of 'true' and 'false'? Is it not sufficient to assume degrees of apparentness and, as it were, lighter and darker shadows and shades of appearance- different 'values', to use the language of painters?
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Not one of these nobly equipped young men has escaped the restless, exhausting, confusing, debilitating crisis of education. ... He feels that he cannot guide himself, cannot help himself—and then he dives hopelessly into the world of everyday life and daily routine, he is immersed in the most trivial activity possible, and his limbs grow weak and weary.
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Not when truth is dirty, but when it is shallow, does the enlightened man dislike to wade into its waters.
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From the State the exceptional individual cannot expect much. He is seldom benefited by being taken into its service; the only certain advantage it can give him is complete independence. Only real culture will prevent him being too early tired out or used up, and will spare him the exhausting struggle against culture-philistinism.
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I am almost equal to a shadow.
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Christianity has the rancor of the sick at its very core-the instinct against the healthy, against health. Everything that is well-constructed, proud, gallant and, above all, beautiful gives offense to its ears and eyes.
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No one can draw more out of things, books included, than he already knows. A man has no ears for that to which experience has given him no access.
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For a tree to become tall it must grow tough roots among the rocks.
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Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me.
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In those days it was possible for a Greek to flee from an over-abundant reality as though it were but the tricky scheming off the imagination-and to flee, not like Plato into the land of eternal ideas, into the workshop off the world-creator, feasting one's eyes on the unblemished unbreakable archetypes, but into the rigor mortis off the coldest emptiest concept off all, the concept of being.
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Whatever the State saith is a lie; whatever it hath is a theft: all is counterfeit in it, the gnawing, sanguinary, insatiate monster.
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For men are not equal: thus speaks justice.
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Whoever thought that he had understood something of me had merely construed something out of me, after his own image.
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There are no facts, only interpretations.
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Unconsciously we seek the principles and opinions which are suited to our temperament, so that at last it seems as if these principles and opinions had formed our character and given it support and stability.
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I need solitude, which is to say, recovery, return to my self, the breath of a free, light, playful air.