Weaklings must lie.
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- Never write on a subject until you have read yourself full of it.
- True, what you sacrifice for the world is but poorly recognized by it; for it is man that rules and reaps the harvest; the thousand night watches and sacrifices by which a mother secures the state a hero or a poet are forgotten, not even mentioned, for the mother herself does not mention them, and so one century after another do the wives, unknown and unrewarded send forth the arrows, the starts the storm-birds and the nightingales of time.
- Variety of mere nothings gives more pleasure than uniformity of something.
- Sorrows are like thunderclouds, in the distance they look black, over our heads scarcely gray.
- I have made as much out of myself as could be made of the stuff, and no man should require more.
- It is simpler and easier to flatter people than to praise them.