Art (n.) raises ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its head where the religions relax their hold, inheriting the torrent of religious feeling the Enlightenment expelled.

Art (n.) at ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its greatest — Dante, Raphael, Michelangelo, the cathedrals — transfigured precisely the errors we now see through; it could not have done so without believing them, and can never flourish again.

Art (n.) at ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its greatest does not fill a soul but makes it more spacious and unfillable — ten greater artists could then plunge in without satisfying it.

Art (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠understood most profoundly now, when the magic of death plays around it — as the Greeks of south Italy savoured their festival most while weeping at barbarism's triumph.

Love (n.) and ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠hatred (n.) are not blind but dazzled by the fire they themselves carry.

Love (n.) can ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠be testified by never having reflected thoroughly on someone.

Love (n.) in ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its sudden, profound form springs when a man finds weakness, need of help and high spirits in one being: his soul wants to gush over — moved and offended at once.

Love (n.) desires, ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠fear shuns: no one can be loved and honoured by the same person at once, for honour recognizes power and love recognizes none — which is why the ambitious resist being loved.

Vanity (n.) meeting ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠equal vanity leaves a poor impression on both — each was so busy with the impression he wished to make that the other made none.

Vanity (n.) treasures ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not others' opinion but its own opinion of their opinion — the vain man wants not to predominate but to feel predominant.

Vanity (n.) that ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠is denied is usually possessed in so brutal a form that its owner shuts his eyes to avoid despising himself.

Vanity (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the proud man's mask of politeness: dropping celebrated names to strangers shows one does not wish to appear proud.

Truth (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠secretly hated for its certainty: tell people they can speak only of probability, and their unconcealed joy shows how they prefer a fluctuating horizon — bat-souls dazzled by brighter light.

Truth (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠often errors and fantasies on which men afterwards foisted a substratum of reality.

Truth (n.) may ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠be Circe: error transformed animals into men — can truth change man back into an animal?

Truth (n.) may ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠be bled to death from: we have grown too tender to do without comfort, and too rigorous to believe the comforting lies.

The Free spirit (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a noble traitor to all things that can be betrayed — redeemed from the fire by the spirit, we advance from opinion to opinion, through party after party, and feel no guilt.

The Free spirit (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not marked by more correct opinions but by having liberated himself from tradition: he demands reasons, the rest demand faith.

The Free spirit (n.) that ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠turns strongly aggressive may be like a growing glacier: evidence that somewhere the heat of sensibility has risen extraordinarily.

The Free spirit (n.) meets ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the great liberation like an earthquake, and suddenly better to die than go on living here, where this here is everything one had hitherto loved.

Genius (n.) and ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠saints (n.) need, to produce their greatest effect, interpreters who misunderstand them for the good of mankind.

Genius (n.) of ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the robber kind plunders the masters, unhindered by the reverence that guards them, and amasses riches that themselves come to inspire reverence.

Genius (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠to will an exalted end and the means to it.

Genius (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a spark thrown off when men are tormented and driven against one another for centuries — whoever wanted to breed it would have to be as evil and ruthless as nature.

Morality (n.) commits ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the astrologer's pride: the moral man supposes that what he holds essentially at heart must also be the heart of things.

Morality (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠man treating himself not as individuum but as dividuum.

Morality (n.) means ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠obedience to custom, whatever it is — exacting revenge, if revenge is the custom; evil is simply severance from tradition.

Morality (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠made of useful actions whose utility has been forgotten — and society, having struggled so long against private self-interest, came to rate every motive higher than utility.

Virtue (n.) needs ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠forgiving — 'Forgive us our virtues' — that is how one should pray to men.

Virtue (n.) began ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠as compulsion, became custom, then voluntary obedience, then almost instinct — and once habitual and pleasant, took the name of virtue.

A Virtue (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠honoured only once it has visibly decided the fate of whole societies; then everyone lays his best at its feet, the poet gives it a pedigree, and like a statue worked on by love it becomes a temple and a divine personage.

Virtue (n.) has ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its privileges — for example, that of bringing to a condemned man's stake its own little bundle of wood.

The Book (n.) that ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠seems 'harmful' may later prove a great service by bringing the hidden sickness of one's heart into view; altered opinions illuminate, not alter, character.

A Book (n.) lives ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its own life once detached from its author, like a part of an insect come free — the author may be grey ashes while the fire is borne forward everywhere.

The Book (n.) that ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠is good is written for a definite reader and so is disliked by most others; the bad book is bad because it tries to please many — and does.

The Book (n.) that ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠becomes influential leaves the impression that everything has already been discovered — which dooms honest scientific books to little influence.

Artist (n.) are ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not men of great passion but pretend to be; deep-rooted passion that consumes a man is never described in dramas — it is always Achilles who lives it and Homer who writes it.

The Artist (n.) of ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠today unchains the will; earlier ones were tamers of the will, transformers of animals, creators of men — the modern poet is at best the ruins of a temple, a cave of desires haunted by snakes.

The Artist (n.) who ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠is good fishes out the blissful moment every way of life has — Chopin's Barcarole finds it even in a tedious life beside a noisy beach, so that the gods themselves could long to spend summer evenings lying in a boat.

The Artist (n.) of ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a noble kind should never want to produce his effect upon the people, the immature, the sentimental or the sickly, and above all never upon the dull and stupefied.