Truth Is Only An Illusion

The World Is A Work Of Art That Gives Birth To Itself.

For One Thing Is Needful: That A Human Being Should Attain Satisfaction With Himself, Whether It Be By Means Of This Or That Poetry Or Art; Only Then Is A Human Being At All Tolerable To Behold. Whoever Is Dissatisfied With Himself Is Constantly Ready For Revenge, And We Others Will Be His Victims, If Only By Having To Endure His Ugly Sight.

Today I Love Myself As I Love My God: Who Could Charge Me With A Sin Today? I Know Only Sins Against My God; But Who Knows My God?

What Destroys A Man More Quickly Than To Work, Think And Feel Without Inner Necessity, Without Any Deep Personal Desire, Without Pleasure - As A Mere Automaton Of Duty?

What Is Originality? To See Something That Is As Yet Without A Name, That Is As Yet Impossible To Designate, Even Though It Staresus In The Face. The Way It Usually Is With People, It Is A Thing's Name That Makes It Perceptible To Them In The First Place.--for The Most Part, The Original Ones Have Also Been The Name-givers.