It's Not The Intensity Of The Man,

I Fear That, With Our Current Veneration For The Natural And The Real, We Have Arrived At The Opposite Pole To All Idealism, And Have Landed In The Region Of The Waxworks.

Now Know I Well What People Sought Formerly Above All Else When They Sought Teachers Of Virtue. Good Sleep They Sought For Themselves, And Poppy-head Virtues To Promote It! To All Those Be-lauded Sages Of The Academic Chairs, Wisdom Was Sleep Without Dreams: They Knew No Higher Significance Of Life. Even At Present, To Be Sure, There Are Some Like This Preacher Of Virtue, And Not Always So Honorable: But Their Time Is Past. And Not Much Longer Do They Stand: There They Already Lie. Blessed Are Those Drowsy Ones: For They Shall Soon Nod To Sleep.-thus Spoke Zarathustra.

The So-called Paradoxes Of An Author, To Which A Reader Takes Exception, Often Exist Not In The Author's Book At All, But Rather In The Reader's Head.

Most People Are Too Stupid To Act In Their Own Interest

Knapsack Of The Metaphysicians.- Those Who Boast So Mightily Of The Scientificality Of Their Metaphysics Should Receive No Answer; It Is Enough To Pluck At The Bundle Which, With A Certain Degree Of Embarrassment, They Keep Concealed Behind Their Back; If One Succeeds In Opening It, The Products Of That Scientificality Come To Light, Attended By Their Blushes: A Dear Little Lord God, A Nice Little Immortality, Perhaps A Certain Quantity Of Spiritualism, And In Any Event A Whole Tangled Heap Of 'wretched Poor Sinner' And Pharisee Arrogance.