There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.
He who cannot give anything away cannot feel anything either.
You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.
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.
In heaven, all the interesting people are missing.
He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.
All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking.
Art is the proper task of life.
I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.
At bottom every man knows well enough that he is a unique being, only once on this earth; and by no extraordinary chance will such a marvelously picturesque piece of diversity in unity as he is, ever be put together a second time.
He who cannot obey himself will be commanded. That is the nature of living creatures.
Is life not a thousand times too short for us to bore ourselves?
one does not only wish to be understood when one writes; one wishes just as surely not to be understood.
Perhaps I know best why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter.
There is one thing one has to have either a soul that is cheerful by nature, or a soul made cheerful by work, love, art, and knowledge.
No artist tolerates reality.
This is the manner of noble souls: they do not want to have anything for nothing; least of all, life. Whoever is of the mob wants to live for nothing; we others, however, to whom life gave itself, we always think about what we might best give in return... One should not wish to enjoy where one does not give joy.
Without music, life would be a mistake.
To predict the behavior of ordinary people in advance, you only have to assume that they will always try to escape a disagreeable situation with the smallest possible expenditure of intelligence.
The lie is a condition of life.
One should not wish to enjoy where one does not give joy.
And let that day be lost to us on which we did not dance once! And let that wisdom be false to us that brought no laughter with it!
The great end of art is to strike the imagination with the power of a soul that refuses to admit defeat even in the midst of a collapsing world.
Strong hope is a much greater stimulant of life than any single realised joy could be.
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