Quotes Friedrich Nietzsche - page 2
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Nothing on earth consumes a man more quickly than the passion of resentment.
Man is something to be surpassed.
The most unequivocal sign of contempt for man is to regard everybody merely as a means to one's own ends, or of no account whatever.
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Man is more sensitive to the contempt of others than to self-contempt.
When a scholar of the old culture vows no longer to have anything to do with men who believe in progress, he is right. For the old culture has its greatness and goodness behind it, and an historical education forces one to admit that it can never again be fresh.
Men submit from habit to everything that seeks power.
Speaking is a beautiful folly; with that man dances over all things.
The perfect woman is a higher type of humanity than the perfect man, and also something much rarer. The natural history of animals furnishes grounds in support of this theory.
The mother of excess is not joy but joylessness.
Love matches, so called, have illusion for their father and need for their mother.
Nothing seems to me to be rarer today then genuine hypocrisy. I greatly suspect that this plant finds the mild atmosphere of our culture unendurable. Hypocrisy has its place in the ages of strong belief: in which even when one is compelled to exhibit a different belief one does not abandon the belief one already has.
If we lacked curiosity, we should do less for the good of our neighbor. But, under the name of duty or pity, curiosity steals into the home of the unhappy and the needy. Perhaps even in the famous mother-love there is a good deal of curiosity.
Because we have for millenia made moral, aesthetic, religious demands on the world, looked upon it with blind desire, passion or fear, and abandoned ourselves to the bad habits of illogical thinking, this world has gradually become so marvelously variegated, frightful, meaningful, soulful, it has acquired color - but we have been the colorists: it is the human intellect that has made appearances appear and transported its erroneous basic conceptions into things.
In Russia there is an emigration of intelligence: émigrés cross the frontier in order to read and to write good books. But in doing so they contribute to making their fatherland, abandoned by spirit, into the gaping jaws of Asia that would like to swallow our little Europe.
Not joy is the mother of dissipation, but joylessness.
Is not wounded vanity the mother of all tragedies?
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Marriages that made out of love (so-called "love-matches") have error as their father and misery (necessity) as their mother.
