There are horrible people who, instead of solving a problem, tangle it up and make it harder to solve for anyone who wants to deal with it. Whoever does not know how to hit the nail on the head should be asked not to hit it at all.
We do not hate as long as we still attach a lesser value, but only when we attach an equal or a greater value.
Judgments, value judgments concerning life, for or against, can in the last resort never be true: they possess value only as symptoms, they come into consideration only as symptoms - in themselves such judgments are stupidities.
Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it is even becoming mob.
Our treasure lies in the beehive of our knowledge. We are perpetually on the way thither, being by nature winged insects and honey gatherers of the mind.
When one has finished building one's house, one suddenly realizes that in the process one has learned something that one really needed to know in the worst way - before one began.
People who have given us their complete confidence believe that they have a right to ours. The inference is false, a gift confers no rights.
Whoever feels predestined to see and not to believe will find all believers too noisy and pushy: he guards against them.
Before the effect one believes in different causes than one does after the effect.
There is in general good reason to suppose that in several respects the gods could all benefit from instruction by us human beings. We humans are - more humane.
Let us beware of saying that death is the opposite of life. The living being is only a species of the dead, and a very rare species.
Undeserved praise causes more pangs of conscience later than undeserved blame, but probably only for this reason, that our power of judgment are more completely exposed by being over praised than by being unjustly underestimated.
What can everyone do? Praise and blame. This is human virtue, this is human madness.
In praise there is more obtrusiveness than in blame.
God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. Yet his shadow still looms. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives; who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves?
Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better even of their blunders.
Love is blind; friendship closes its eyes.
Of all that is written, I love only what a person has written with his own blood.
I am a pure-blooded Polish nobleman without a single drop of bad blood - certainly not German blood.
Germany is a great nation only because its people have so much Polish blood in their veins.
