I Consist Of Body And Soul -

A Soul Which Knows That It Is Loved, But Does Not Itself Love, Betrays Its Sediment: Its Dregs Come Up.

The Great Poet Draws His Creations Only From Out Of His Own Reality.

From The Sun Did I Learn This, When It Goeth Down, The Exuberant One: Gold Doth It Then Pour Into The Sea, Out Of Inexhaustible Riches, -so That The Poorest Fisherman Roweth Even With Golden Oars! For This Did I Once See, And Did Not Tire Of Weeping In Beholding It. - Like The Sun Will Also Zarathustra Go Down: Now Sitteth He Here And Waiteth, Old Broken Tables Around Him, And Also New Tables Half-written.

I Hate You Most Because You Attract, But Are Not Strong Enough To Pull Me To You.

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.