We Belong To An Age Whose Culture

The Irrationality Of A Thing Is No Argument Against Its Existence, Rather A Condition Of It.

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.

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.

Even The Bravest Only Rarely Have Courage For What They Really Know.

However Much We May Feel For The Misery Of Someone Close To Us, We Always Act With Some Artificiality In Their Presence. We Hold-back From Telling Them Everything We Think, Often Because We Do Not Genuinely Mean What We Say; Or Because We Take A Pleasure In Their Plight, Thankful That We Are Not Affected.