It Is The Music In Our Conscience,

To Live As I Incline, Or Not To Live At All: So Do I Wish; So Wisheth Also The Holiest. But Alas! How Have I Still - Inclination? Have I-still A Goal? A Haven Towards Which My Sail Is Set?a Good Wind? Ah, He Only Who Knoweth Whither He Saileth, Knoweth What Wind Is Good, And A Fair Wind For Him.what Still Remaineth To Me? A Heart Weary And Flippant; And Unstable Will; Fluttering Wings; A Broken Backbone.this Seeking For My Home: O Zarathustra, Dost Thou Know That This Seeking Hath Been My Home-sickening; It Eateth Me Up.

Behind All Their Personal Vanity, Women Themselves Always Have An Impersonal Contempt For Woman.

The Thousand Mysteries Around Us Would Not Trouble But Interest Us, If Only We Had Cheerful, Healthy Hearts.

I Love Him Who Desireth Not Too Many Virtues. One Virtue Is More Of A Virtue Than Two, Because It Is More Of A Knot For One's Destiny To Cling To.

However Much We May Feel For The Misery Of Someone Close To Us, We Always Act With Some Artificiality In Their Presence. We Hold-back From Telling Them Everything We Think, Often Because We Do Not Genuinely Mean What We Say; Or Because We Take A Pleasure In Their Plight, Thankful That We Are Not Affected.