I caught this insight on the way and quickly seized the rather poor words that were closest to hand to pin it down lest it fly away again. And now it has died of these arid words and shakes and flaps in them– and I hardly know anymore when I look at it how I...
The higher we soar the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly.
Their [philosophers] thinking is, in fact, far less a discovery than a re-recognizing, a remembering, a return and a home-coming to a far-off, ancient common-household of the soul, out of which those ideas formerly grew: philosophizing is so far a kind of atavism of the highest order.
I would believe only in a God that knows how to dance.
No one dies of fatal truths nowadays: there are too many antidotes.
Dove la moralità è troppo forte l’intelletto perisce.
Two great European narcotics, alcohol and Christianity.
In heaven, all the interesting people are missing.
Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.
The Thought of Death. It gives me a melancholy happiness to live in the midst of this confusion of streets, of necessities, of voices: how much enjoyment, impatience and desire, how much thirsty life and drunkenness of life comes to light here every moment! And yet it will soon be so still for all these...
The author must keep his mouth shut when his work starts to speak.
The Church today is more likely to alienate than to seduce…
Success has always been the greatest liar – and the “work” itself is a success; the great statesman, the conqueror, the discoverer is disguised by his creations, often beyond recognition; the “work,” whether of the artist or the philosopher, invents the man who has created it, who is supposed to have create it; “great men,”...
But how can we venture to reprove or praise the universe! Let us beware of attributing to it heartlessness and unreason or their opposites: it is neither perfect nor beautiful nor noble, and has no desire to become any of these; it is by no means striving to imitate mankind! It is quite impervious to...
Our faith in others betrays that we would rather have faith in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer. And often with our love we want merely to overcome envy. And often we attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.
Your only problem, perhaps, is that you scream without letting yourself cry.
I and me are always too deeply in conversation: how could I endure it,if there were not a friend?The friend of the hermit is always the third one: the third one is the float which prevents the conversation of the two from sinking into the depth.
When the gratitude that many owe to one discards all modesty, then there is fame.