The Will To Power Can Express Itself

Truth Is Only An Illusion We Have Forgotten Is An Illusion.

Anyone Who Has Looked Deeply Into The World May Guess How Much Wisdom Lies In The Superficiality Of Men. The Instinct That Preserves Them Teaches Them To Be Flighty Light, And False.

There Exists No More Repulsive And Desolate Creature In The World Than The Man Who Has Evaded His Genius And Who Now Looks Furtively To Left And Right, Behind Him And All About Him. ... He Is Wholly Exterior, Without Kernel, A Tattered, Painted Bag Of Clothes.

Has Anyone...any Distinct Notion Of What Poets Of A Stronger Age Understood By The Word Inspiration? ... There Is An Ecstasy Such That The Immese Strain Of It Is Sometimes Relaxed By A Flood Of Tears, Along With Which One's Steps Either Rush Or Involuntarily Lag, Alternately. There Is The Feeling That One Is Completely Out Of Hand, With The Very Distinct Consciousness Of An Endless Number Of Fine Thrills And Quiverings To The Very Toes... Everything Happens Quite Involuntarily, As If In A Tempestuous Outburst Of Freedom, Of Absoluteness, Of Power And Divinity.

That Every Will Must Consider Every Other Will Its Equal Would Be A Principle Hostile To Life, An Agent Of The Dissolution And Destruction Of Man, An Attempt To Assassinate The Future Of Man, A Sign Of Weariness, A Secret Path To Nothingness.