Whoever despises himself nonetheless respects himself as one who despises.
If you want to know your true opinion of someone, watch the effect produced in you by the first sight of a letter from him.
It is not when truth is dirty, but when it is shallow, that the lover of knowledge is reluctant to step into its waters.
God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. Yet his shadow still looms. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives; who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves?
Whoever does not have a good father should procure one.
History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce.
The stunning thing about the world as it is, is that we have a tremendously large problem in it: namely, one-third of all human deaths, 80-million every year from poverty-related causes, trivial diseases and so on, and stunningly, nobody is really paying attention to it.
There cannot be a God because if there were one, I could not believe that I was not He.
In all the areas within which the spiritual life of humanity is at work, the historical epoch wherein fate has placed us is an epoch of stupendous happenings.
The fundament upon which all our knowledge and learning rests is the inexplicable.