Everyone Becomes Brave When He

Mistrust Those In Whom The Urge To Punish Is Strong.

The Great Poet Draws His Creations Only From Out Of His Own Reality.

One Does Not Only Wish To Be Understood When One Writes; One Wishes Just As Surely Not To Be Understood.

One Who Dresses In Rags That Have Been Washed Clean Dresses Cleanly To Be Sure, But Raggedly Nonetheless.

There Is Nothing More Necessary Than Truth, And In Comparison With It Everything Else Has Only Secondary Value. This Absolute Will To Truth: What Is It? Is It The Will To Not Allow Ourselves To Be Deceived? Is It The Will Not To Deceive? One Does Not Want To Be Deceived, Under The Supposition That It Is Injurious, Dangerous, Or Fatal To Be Deceived.