The Demonic (n.) is anxiety about the good.
The Demonic (n.) is marked by the deep contradiction that there is ever so much more good in a demoniac than in superficial people.
The Demonic (n.) is every individual who through himself alone, without any middle term, stands in relation to the ideas: if the idea is God, he is religious; if the idea is evil, he is demoniacal in the strict sense.
The Demonic (n.) cannot rest in the final religious resolution but stays forever under tension — she decides his fate, he says, though in truth it is already decided.
The Demonic (n.) is not being dialectical but persisting in that state.
A Demonic (n.) becomes more than human not as the religious man does, by making sacrifices, but by demanding them — "she must be removed; my road to greatness runs over her ruin."
The Demonic (n.) is not the bondage of sin: bondage is an unfree relation to evil, the demonic an unfree relation to the good — dread of the good.
The Demonic (n.) shows itself only when the good comes near — which is why the demons in the Gospels first appear when Christ approaches, whether they scream as Legion or stay dumb.
The Demonic (n.) spreads wider than supposed: many who set out to study it fall under it themselves, and every man carries traces of it, as surely as every man is a sinner.
The Demonic (n.) is unfreedom that wants to close itself off — which is and remains impossible.
The Demonic (n.) is present even in the man who wishes for disclosure, if he has two wills: a weak one that wills revelation, and a stronger one that wills reserve.
The Demonic (n.) is the sudden: its only continuity is the dizziness of a spinning top revolving on its own pivot — there one moment, gone the next, back again whole.
The Demonic (n.) is a nothing — like the elf maid, who seen from behind is hollow.
The Demonic (n.) shows itself in the life of the mind as indolence that postpones thinking, curiosity that never becomes more than curiosity, dishonest self-deception, superior negligence, stupid busyness.
A Demonic (n.) holds infinitely more good than a trivial person, because he spares himself no torment.
The Demonic (n.) resembles the divine: here too the individual can enter into an absolute relation — the counterpart of faith's paradox, and dangerously like it.
The Demonic (n.) has its Shakespearean model: Gloucester became a demon because he could not bear the pity he had suffered since childhood.
The Demonic (n.) begins with being set outside the universal by nature or history — something for which the individual himself is not to blame.