What Is Life? A Continuous Praise And

One Will Rarely Err If Extreme Actions Be Ascribed To Vanity, Ordinary Actions To Habit, And Mean Actions To Fear.

At One Time Or Another, Almost Every Politician Needs An Honest Man So Badly That, Like A Ravenous Wolf, He Breaks Into A Sheep-fold: Not To Devour The Ram He Has Stolen, However, But Rather To Conceal Himself Behind Its Wooly Back.

A Philosophical Mythology Lies Concealed In Language, Which Breaks Out Again At Every Moment, No Matter How Cautious We May Be.

We Have No Organ At All For Knowledge, For Truth: We Know (or Believe Or Imagine) Precisely As Much As May Be Useful In The Interest Of The Human Herd, The Species: And Even What Is Here Called Usefulness Is In The End Only A Belief, Something Imagined And Perhaps Precisely That Most Fatal Piece Of Stupidity By Which We Shall One Day Perish.

Against The Censurers Of Brevity. - Something Said Briefly Can Be The Fruit Of Much Long Thought: But The Reader Who Is A Novice In This Field, And Has As Yet Reflected On It Not At All, Sees In Everything Said Briefly Something Embryonic, Not Without Censuring The Author For Having Served Him Up Such Immature And Unripened Fare.