Again I remind you of Pauls priceless saying: And God hath chosen the weak things of the world, the foolish things of the world, the base things of the world, and things which are despised:  this was the formula; in hoc signo the décadence triumphed.God on the crossis man always to miss the frightful inner significance of this symbol?Everything that suffers, everything that hangs on the cross, is divine.... We all hang on the cross, consequently we are divine.... We alone are divine.... Christianity was thus a victory: a nobler attitude of mind was destroyed by itChristianity remains to this day the greatest misfortune of humanity.
Against boredom even gods struggle in vain.
A virtue must be our invention; it must spring out of our personal need and defence.
Christianity remains to this day the greatest misfortune of humanity.
Democracy and free speech are not facets of one gem; democracy and free speech are eternal enemies.
Democracy and free speech are not facets of one gem; democracy and free speech are eternal enemies. But in any battle between an institution and an idea, the idea, in the long run, has the better of it. Here I do not venture into the absurdity of arguing that, as the world wags on, the truth always survives. I believe nothing of the sort. As a matter of fact, it seems to me that an idea that happens to be trueor, more exactly, as near to truth as any human idea can be, and yet remain generally intelligibleit seems to me that such an idea carries a special and often fatal handi cap. The majority of men prefer delusion to truth. It soothes. It is easy to grasp. Above all, it fits more snugly than the truth into a universe of false appearancesof complex and irrational phenomena,
Even a man who makes the most modest pretensions to integrity must know that a theologian, a priest, a pope of today not only errs when he speaks, but actually liesand that he no longer escapes blame for his lie through innocence or ignorance. The priest knows, as every one knows, that there is no longer any God,
Happiness is the feeling that power increases - that resistance is being overcome.
In letting God sit in judgment they judge themselves; in glorifying God they glorify themselves.
It is a pity that there was no Dostoevsky living near this most interesting decadent [Jesus], I mean someone with an eye for the distinctive charm that this sort of mixture of sublimity, sickness, and childishness has to offer.
Let us face ourselves. We are Hyperboreans; we know very well how far off we live. 'Neither by land nor by sea will you find the way to the Hyperboreans'Pindar already knew this about us. Beyond the north, ice, and deathour life, our happiness. We have discovered happiness, we know the way, we have found the exit out of the labyrinth of thousands of years. Who else has found it? Modern man perhaps? 'I have got lost; I am everything that has got lost,' sighs modern man. This modernity was our sickness: lazy peace, cowardly compromise, the whole virtuous uncleanliness of the modern Yes and No. Rather live in the ice than among modern virtues and other south winds! We were intrepid enough, we spared neither ourselves nor others; but for a long time we did not know where to turn with our intrepidity. We became gloomy, we were called fatalists. Our fatumabundance, tension, the damming of strength. We thirsted for lightning and deeds and were most remote from the happiness of the weakling, 'resignation.' In our atmosphere was a thunderstorm; the nature we are became darkfor we saw no way. Formula for our happiness: a Yes, a No, a straight line, a goal.
Man is the most bungled of all the animals, the sickliest, and not one has strayed more dangerously from its instincts. But for all that, of course, he is the most interesting.
One must not let oneself be misled: they say 'Judge not!' but they send to Hell everything that stands in their way.
Our age knows better.... What was formerly merely sickly now becomes indecentit is indecent to be a Christian today.
Pity preserves things that are ripe for decline, it defends things that have been disowned and condemned by life, and it gives a depressive and questionable character to life itself by keeping alive an abundance of failures of every type. People have dared to call pity a virtue people have gone even further, making it into the virtue, the foundation and source of all virtues, - but of course you always have to keep in mind that this was the perspective of a nihilistic philosophy that inscribed the negation of life on its shield. Schopenhauer was right here: pity negates life, it makes life worthy of negation, - pity is the practice of nihilism. Once more: this depressive and contagious instinct runs counter to the instincts that preserve and enhance the value of life: by multiplying misery just as much as by conserving everything miserable, pity is one of the main tools used to increase decadence - pity wins people over to nothingness! You do not say nothingness : instead you say the beyond; or God; or the true life; or nirvana, salvation, blessedness This innocent rhetoric from the realm of religious-moral idiosyncrasy suddenly appears much less innocent when you see precisely which tendencies are wrapped up inside these sublime words: tendencies hostile to life.
Pity thwarts the whole law of evolution, which is the law of natural selection. It preserves whatever is ripe for destruction;
¿Qué es la felicidad? El sentimiento de lo que acrece el poder; el
sentimiento de haber superado una resistencia.
sentimiento de haber superado una resistencia.
Some men are born posthumously.
The majority of men prefer delusion to truth. It soothes. It is easy to grasp.
The majority of men prefer delusion to truth. It soothes. It is easy to grasp. Above all, it fits more snugly than the truth into a universe of false appearancesof complex and irrational phenomena, defectively grasped.
The majority of men prefer delusion to truth. It soothes. It is easy to grasp. Above all, it fits more snugly than the truth into a universe of false appearancesof complex and irrational phenomena, defectively grasped. But though an idea that is true is thus not likely to prevail, an idea that is attacked enjoys a great advantage. The evidence behind it is now supported by sympathy, the sporting instinct, sentimentalityand sentimentality is as powerful as an army with banners. One never hears of a martyr in history whose notions are seriously disputed today. The forgotten ideas are those of the men who put them forward soberly and quietly, hoping fatuously that they would conquer by the force of their truth; these are the ideas that we now struggle to rediscover.
The most common sort of lie is that by which a man deceives himself: the deception of others is a relatively rare offense.
The most spiritual men, as the strongest, find their happiness where others would find their destruction: in the labyrinth, in hardness against themselves and others, in experiments. Their joy is self-conquest: asceticism becomes in them nature, need, and instinct. Difficult tasks are a privilege to them; to play with burdens that crush others, a recreation. Knowledgea form of asceticism. They are the most venerable kind of man: that does not preclude their being the most cheerful and the kindliest.
The pathetic thing that grows out of this condition is called faith: in other words, closing one's eyes upon one's self once for all, to avoid suffering the sight of incurable falsehood. People erect a concept of morality, of virtue, of holiness upon this false view of all things; they ground good conscience upon faulty vision; they argue that no other sort of vision has value any more, once they have made theirs sacrosanct with the names of "God," "salvation" and "eternity." I unearth this theological instinct in all directions: it is the most widespread and the most subterranean form of falsehood to be found on earth.
the process of evolution does not necessarily mean elevation, enhancement, strengthening.
There are days when I am haunted by a feeling that is blacker than the blackest melancholy. I have a contempt for humanity. I despise the people I have been fated to call my contemporaries. I feel suffocated by their filthy breath.
This book belongs to the most rare of men. Perhaps not one of them is yet alive. First the day after tomorrow must come for me. Some men are born posthumously.
This book belongs to the most rare of men. Perhaps not one of them is yet alive. It is possible that they may be among those who understand my Zarathustra: how could I confound myself with those who are now sprouting ears?First the day after tomorrow must come for me. Some men are born posthumously.
This eternal accusation against Christianity I shall write upon all walls, wherever walls are to be found--I have letters that even the blind will be able to see. . . . I call Christianity the one great curse, the one great intrinsic depravity, the one great instinct of revenge, for which no means are venomous enough, or secret, subterranean and small enough,--I call it the one immortal blemish upon the human race...
This saintly anarchist, who aroused the people of the abyss, the outcasts and sinners, the Chandala of Judaism, to rise in revolt against the established order of thingsand in language which, if the Gospels are to be credited, would get him sent to Siberia todaythis man was certainly a political criminal, at least in so far as it was possible to be one in so absurdly unpolitical a community. This is what brought him to the cross: the proof thereof is to be found in the inscription that was put upon the cross. He died for his own sinsthere is not the slightest ground for believing, no matter how often it is asserted, that he died for the sins of others.