Profundity of thought belongs to youth, clarity of thought to old age.

Time flies apace-we would fain believe that everything flies forward with it.

Every tradition grows continually more venerable, and the more remote its origin, the more this is lost sight of. The veneration paid the tradition accumulates from generation to generation, until it at last becomes holy and excites awe.

The less men are fettered by tradition, the greater becomes the inward activity of their motives; the greater, again, in proportion thereto, the outward restlessness, the confused flux of mankind, the polyphony of strivings.

The love of truth has its reward in heaven and even on earth.

The will to truth is merely the longing for a stable world.

There are many kind of eyes. Even the Sphinx has eyes-therefore there must be many kinds of "truths," and consequently there can be no truth.

All truths that are kept silent become poisonous.

The inability to lie is far from the love of truth.

Life is a well of joy; but for those out of whom an upset stomach speaks, which is the father of melancholy, all wells are poisoned.