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Friedrich Nietzsche

Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits

  • Agustinahas quoted2 years ago
    he wishes himself to gather the fruit from the tree that he plants and consequently he no longer plants those trees which require centuries of constant cultivation and are destined to afford shade to generation after generation in the future.
  • pendeltonward101has quoted21 days ago
    due to the very nature and being of the "thing-in-itself."
  • pendeltonward101has quoted21 days ago
    Philosophical problems, in almost all their aspects, present themselves in the same interrogative formula now that they did two thousand years ago: how can a thing develop out of its antithesis?
  • pendeltonward101has quoted21 days ago
    What!? Everything is merely—human—all too human?
  • Agustinahas quotedlast year
    Luke 18:14 Improved.—He that humbleth himself wisheth to be exalted.
  • Agustinahas quotedlast year
    How comes it that every execution causes us more pain than a murder? It is the coolness of the executioner, the painful preparation, the perception that here a man is being used as an instrument for the intimidation of others. For the guilt is not punished even if there be any: this is ascribable to the teachers, the parents, the environment, in ourselves, not in the murderer—I mean the predisposing circumstances.
  • Agustinahas quotedlast year
    Every virtue has its privilege: for example, that of contributing its own little bundle of wood to the funeral pyre of one condemned.
  • Agustinahas quotedlast year
    Actions can be promised, but not feelings, for these are involuntary.
  • Arthur Shas quoted3 years ago
    mater saeva cupidinum, encircles
  • crunchy cheerioshas quoted4 years ago
    A sudden dread and distrust of that which they loved, a flash of contempt for that which is called their "duty," a mutinous, wilful, volcanic-like longing for a far away journey, strange scenes and people, annihilation, petrifaction, a hatred surmounting love, perhaps a sacrilegious impulse and look backwards, to where they so long prayed and loved, perhaps a flush of shame for what they did and at the same time an exultation at having done it, an inner, intoxicating, delightful tremor in which is betrayed the sense of victory—a victory? over what? over whom? a riddle-like victory, fruitful in questioning and well worth questioning, but the first victory, for all—such things of pain and ill belong to the history of the great liberation
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