“Interpreting myself, I always readMyself into my books. I clearly needSome help. But all who climb on their own wayCarry my image, too, into the breaking day.”

“This book belongs to the most rare of men. Perhaps not one of them is yet alive. It is possible that they may be among those who understand my “Zarathustra”: how could I confound myself with those who are now sprouting ears?—First the day after tomorrow must come for me. Some men are born posthumously.”

“So I ask my pride that it always go along with my wisdom. And when my wisdom leaves me one day alas - it loves to flyway - let my pride then fly with my folly.”

“And must I not conceal myself like one who has swallowed gold- lest my soul should be ripped up?”

“I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who make things beautiful. Amor fati: let that be my love henceforth! I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse those who accuse. Looking away shall be my only negation. And all in all and on the whole: some day I wish to be only a Yes-sayer.”

“Now and again an echo of Chopin’s music rings in my ears, and this much you absorb me that, at such moments I always think of you and lose myself in meditating about possibilities.”

“My soul is calm and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they think I am cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.”