In Art The End Does

Our Vanity Desires That What We Do Best Should Be Considered What Is Hardest For Us.

Such Men Alone Are My Readers, My Proper Readers, My Preordained Readers. Of What Account Are The Rest? The Rest Are Simply... Humanity. One Must Be Superior To Humanity In Power, In Loftiness Of Soul- In Contempt.

The Will To Incessant Creation Is Vulgar, Betraying Jealousy, Envy, And Ambition. Assuming That You Are Something, There Is Really Nothing That You Need To Do-and Yet You Do A Great Deal. Above The "productive" Man There Is Still A Higher Type.

All Truly Great Thoughts Are Conceived By Walking.

Who Has Not For The Sake Of His Reputation Sacrificed Himself?