He Who Has Art And Science Also

A Human Being Needs Only A Small Plot Of Ground On Which To Be Happy, And Even Less To Lie Beneath.

If The Word Is Not Dead When It Reaches The Hearer, He Murders It At Once By A Contradiction, A Stipulation, A Condition, A Digression, An Interruption, And All The Thousand Tricks Of Conversation.

The Human Race Is A Monotonous Affair. Most People Spend The Greatest Part Of Their Time Working In Order To Live, And What Little Freedom Remains So Fills Them With Fear That They Seek Out Any And Every Means To Be Rid Of It.

Man... Knows Only When He Is Satisfied And When He Suffers, And Only His Sufferings And His Satisfactions Instruct Him Concerning Himself, Teach Him What To Seek And What To Avoid. For The Rest, Man Is A Confused Creature; He Knows Not Whence He Comes Or Whither He Goes, He Knows Little Of The World, And Above All, He Knows Little Of Himself.

Man, Be He Who He May, Experiences A Last Piece Of Good Fortune And A Last Day. [ger., Der Mensch Erfahrt, Er Sei Auch Wer Er Mag, Ein Letztes Gluck Und Einen Letzten Tag.]