Once there was a man whose parents had inculcated in him a pious belief in Jesus Christ — as he grew older he understood it less and less. ‘For,’ he said, ‘this I understand, that he was willing to sacrifice his life for truth, and that if he did sacrifice his life it was for the truth What I cannot understand is that he who is love did not, out of love for men, prevent men from committing the greatest of all crimes, that of taking his life.’

The fact is, Christ is not love, least of all in the human sense; he is truth, truth absolutely; that is why not only could he defend their action but had to let men become guilty of his death: i.e. reveal truth to the uttermost degree (the contrary, being weakness, would have been no defense).

'Good-bye, you wish of my youth, you friendly place where I had hoped to build and live with my wish!' The procession moves on — the guiding necessity silently in advance, duty behind, stern and earnest — not cruel, since duty never is that. Ah, see that road branching off to the side; it leads to the wish: 'Good-bye to you, my desired sphere of activity, where I had hoped to forget youth's denied wish in the fulfilled joy of work.' The procession moves on.
Alas, human sympathy often relates itself inversely to suffering, which becomes harder in the long run, and sympathy becomes weary in the long run; the suffering increases while the sympathy diminishes…when […] sympathy is at an end, it sometimes is changed into a kind of bitterness against the sufferer.
What kind of miserable invention is this human language, which says one thing and means another?
He keeps a religious mood as a secret he cannot explain, while at the same time this secrets helps him poetically explain actuality.
And is it not the case that the older a person grows, the more and more of a swindle life proves to be…
My being was transparent, like the depths of the sea, like the self-satisfied silence of the night, like the soliloquizing stillness of midday. Every mood rested in my soul with melodic resonance.
He who will merely hope is cowardly; he who will merely recollect is voluptuous; he who wills repetition is a man, and the more emphatically he is able to realize it, the more profound a human being he is.
When the Eleatics denied motion, Diogenes, as everyone knows, came forward as an opponent. He literally did come forward, because he did not say a word but merely paced back and forth a few times, thereby assuming he had sufficiently refuted them.
— most of us are far more inclined to think of discovering evil than discovering the good.