What Good Is A Book That Does

What Is It That You Love In Others?--my Hopes.

The Desire To Create Continually Is Vulgar And Betrays Jealousy, Envy, Ambition. If One Is Something One Really Does Not Need To Make Anything --and One Nonetheless Does Very Much. There Exists Above The ''productive'' Man A Yet Higher Species.

Whoever Thought That He Had Understood Something Of Me Had Merely Construed Something Out Of Me, After His Own Image.

Every Word Has Its Fragrance: There Is A Harmony And A Disharmony Of Fragrances, And Hence Of Words.

One Receives As Reward For Much Ennui, Despondency, Boredom -such As A Solitude Without Friends, Books, Duties, Passions Must Bring With It -those Quarter-hours Of Profoundest Contemplation Within Oneself And Nature. He Who Completely Entrenches Himself Against Boredom Also Entrenches Himself Against Himself: He Will Never Get To Drink The Strongest Refreshing Draught From His Own Innermost Fountain.