Wit Is The Epitaph Of An Emotion.

Men Subsequently Put Whatever Is Newly Learned Or Experienced To Use As A Plowshare, Perhaps Even As A Weapon: But Women Immediately Include It Among Their Ornaments.

I Feel All Those Human Beings To Be Pernicious Who Can No Longer Oppose What They Love: They Thereby Ruin The Best Things And People.

Having A Talent Is Not Enough: One Must Also Have Your Permission To Have It--right, My Friends?

Where There Is Happiness, There Is Found Pleasure In Nonsense. The Transformation Of Experience Into Its Opposite, Of The Suitable Into The Unsuitable, The Obligatory Into The Optional (but In Such A Manner That This Process Produces No Injury And Is Only Imagined In Jest), Is A Pleasure.

And It Is The Great Noon When Man Stands At The Midpoint Of His Course Between Beast And Superman And Celebrates His Way To The Evening As His Highest Hope: For It Is The Way To A New Morning.