Friedrich NietzscheMonday, 09 December 2019
Ecce Homo ("Behold the man") are the latin words spoken by Pontius Pilate when presenting Jesus Christ before the crowd. Nietzsche wrote the book in 1888, but it was not published until 1908.
How I understand the philosopher - as a terrible explosive, endangering everthing... my concept of the philosopher is worlds removed from any concept that would include even a Kant, not to speak of academic "ruminants" and other professors of philosophy...
Ecce Homo, s 3.2.3
The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies but also to hate his friends.
Foreword, Ecce Homo
Nothing on earth consumes a man more quickly than the passion of resentment.
Ecce Homo (1888)
One must pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while still alive.
Ecce Homo (1888)
I know my fate. One day my name will be associated with the memory of something tremendous - a crisis without equal on earth, the most profound collision of conscience, a decision that was conjured up against everything that had been believed, demanded, hallowed so far. I am no man, I am dynamite.
Ecce Homo (1888). Why I am a Destiny", 1
What does not kill me, makes me stronger.
Ecce Homo (1888). "Why I Am So Wise", 2
All things considered, I could never have survived my youth without Wagnerian music. For I seemed condemned to the society of Germans. If a man wishes to rid himself of a feeling of unbearable oppression, he may have to take to hashish. Well, I had to take to Wagner...
Ecce Homo (1888). Why I am So Clever, 6
After coming into contact with a religious man I always feel I must wash my hands.
Ecce Homo, "Why I Am a Destiny" (1888)
To become what one is, one must not have the faintest idea what one is.
Ecce Homo (1888). Why I am So Clever, 9
Friedrich Nietzsche Quote of the DayMonday, 09 December 2019
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.On the Genealogy of Morality (1887). Essay 2, Section 11