Will (n.) is rational desire, found only in the wise; desire divorced from reason and too violently aroused is libido, found in all fools.
Will (n.) seems an entirely secondary phenomenon — not one of the four basic functions, and neither is attention.
Will (n.) is suspended when every motive has an equally strong countermotive — and since life cannot tolerate a standstill, the dammed energy flows back to its source.
Will (n.) has no content of its own; that it is set unilaterally by one function — by reason or by desire — is truly a sign of the barbarian state.
Will (n.) is only as good as the reflection that steers it — and life and fate were never shown to be rational.
Will (n.) is disposable energy — the little we have won by domesticating ourselves, which is why the primitive needs elaborate ceremonies where we need only a decision.
Will (n.) can be an inheritance dug up from the grave: the passive woman who dreamt of her father's antique sword was learning that a person can will something and need not merely be driven.
Will (n.) cannot transgress the bounds of the psyche: it can coerce neither instinct below nor spirit above — both are autonomous and fence it in equally.
Will (n.) carries civilized man the further into one-sidedness the more he trains it, away from the roots of his being — the possibility of freedom and a source of endless transgressions against instinct.
Will (n.) is no guarantee of power — “where there's a will there's a way,” a slogan heard so often in Germany, has cost millions of lives.
Will (n.) straining against a potent unconscious produces a caricature or even the exact opposite of the intended result.
Will (n.) is the young person's necessary illusion: unless he is a genius he should believe in nothing active within him but his will, for without that illusion he could not adapt.
Will (n.) has leapt so far ahead that we say “God's will” without knowing what we mean — and in the same breath insist that where there's a will there's a way.
Will (n.) given over by man and left patient and still as a dead nothing lets the Tincture do everything in us and for us — but how hard and bitter this is before the will can stay calm with all the fire let loose in its sight.
The Will (n.) is how we hope to control our functions, because we are afraid of everything that moves by itself; yet nobody can decide "I will not think" or "I will not feel."
The Will (n.) is overrated by people who think nothing can happen in their minds without their intent; the unintended arises from the ego's other side, in a way another subject.