It Is Only When We Have Ceased

We Find Nothing Easier Than Being Wise, Patient, Superior. We Drip With The Oil Of Forbearance And Sympathy, We Are Absurdly Just, We Forgive Everything. For That Very Reason We Ought To Discipline Ourselves A Little; For That Very Reason We Ought To Cultivate A Little Emotion, A Little Emotional Vice, From Time To Time. It May Be Hard For Us; And Among Ourselves We May Perhaps Laugh At The Appearance We Thus Present. But What Of That! We No Longer Have Any Other Mode Of Self-overcoming Available To Us: This Is Our Asceticism, Our Penance.

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.

Even The Pluckiest Among Us Has But Seldom The Courage Of What He Really Knows.

I Want To Learn More And More To See As Beautiful What Is Necessary In Things; Then I Shall Be One Of Those Who Make Things Beautiful. Amor Fati: Let That Be My Love Henceforth! I Do Not Want To Wage War Against What Is Ugly. I Do Not Want To Accuse; I Do Not Even Want To Accuse Those Who Accuse. Looking Away Shall Be My Only Negation. And All In All And On The Whole: Some Day I Wish To Be Only A Yes-sayer.

The Object Of Convalescence Ought To Be To Turn Our Attention To Life: At Other Times, Simply To Our Tasks!