I Obviously Do Everything To

What Then In The Last Resort Are The Truths Of Mankind? They Are The Irrefutable Errors Of Mankind.

You May Have Enemies Whom You Hate, But Not Enemies Whom You Despise. You Must Be Proud Of Your Enemy: Then The Success Of Your Enemy Shall Be Your Success Too.

God Is Dead. God Remains Dead. And We Have Killed Him. 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? What Festivals Of Atonement, What Sacred Games Shall We Have To Invent? Is Not The Greatness Of This Deed Too Great For Us? Must We Ourselves Not Become Gods Simply To Appear Worthy Of It?

The Idealist Is Incorrigible: If He Is Thrown Out Of His Heaven He Makes An Ideal Of His Hell.

Poets And Writers Who Are In Love With The Superlative All Want To Do More Than They Can.