Posthumous Men-myself, For Example-are Not As Well

We Have Art In Order Not To Die Of The Truth.

The Devotion Of The Greatest Is To Encounter Risk And Danger, And Play Dice For Death.

One Should Part From Life As Odysseus Parted From Nausicaa-blessing It Rather Than In Love With It.

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.

Most Of The Time In Married Life Is Taken Up By Talk.