We Should Be A Mirror Of Being:

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.

Convictions Are Prisons.

Christianity Has Done Its Utmost To Close The Circle And Declared Even Doubt To Be Sin. One Is Supposed To Be Cast Into Belief Without Reason, By A Miracle, And From Then On To Swim In It As In The Brightest And Least Ambiguous Of Elements: Even A Glance Towards Land, Even The Thought That One Perhaps Exists For Something Else As Well As Swimming, Even The Slightest Impulse Of Our Amphibious Nature

Three Metamorphoses Of The Spirit I Relate To You: How The Spirit Becomes A Camel; And The Camel, A Lion; And The Lion, Finally, A Child.

A Good Aphorism Is Too Hard For The Tooth Of Time, And Is Not Worn Away By All The Centuries, Although It Serves As Food For Every Epoch.