In Music The Passions Enjoy Themselves.

When One Is Young, One Venerates And Despises Without That Art Of Nuances Which Constitutes The Best Gain Of Life.

Something Unappeased, Unappeasable, Is Within Me.

Those Who Show Pity And Are Always Ready To Help During Times Of Trouble Are Seldom The Same Ones Who Rejoice In Our Joy: When Others Are Happy They Have Nothing To Do, They Become Superfluous And Lose Their Feeling Of Superiority, And So They Easily Show Their Displeasure.

To Live As I Incline, Or Not To Live At All: So Do I Wish; So Wisheth Also The Holiest. But Alas! How Have I Still - Inclination? Have I-still A Goal? A Haven Towards Which My Sail Is Set?a Good Wind? Ah, He Only Who Knoweth Whither He Saileth, Knoweth What Wind Is Good, And A Fair Wind For Him.what Still Remaineth To Me? A Heart Weary And Flippant; And Unstable Will; Fluttering Wings; A Broken Backbone.this Seeking For My Home: O Zarathustra, Dost Thou Know That This Seeking Hath Been My Home-sickening; It Eateth Me Up.

There Are Instances When We Are Like Horses, We Psychologists, And Grow Restless: We See Our Own Shadow Wavering Up And Down Before Us. A Psychologist Must Look Away From Himself In Order To See Anything At All.