For he who loved himself became great by himself; and he who loved other men became great by his selfless devotion, but he who loved God became greater than all.
People commonly travel the world over to see rivers and mountains, new stars, garish birds, freak fish, grotesque breeds of human; they fall into an animal stupor that gapes at existence and they think they have seen something.
Only the lower natures forget themselves and become something new. Thus the butterfly has entirely forgotten that it was a caterpillar, perhaps it may in turn so entirely forget it was a butterfly that it becomes a fish. The deeper natures never forget themselves and never become anything else than what they were.
Be that self which one truly is.
Anxiety is freedom’s possibility; this anxiety alone is, through faith, absolutely formative, since it consumes all finite ends, discovers all their deceptions.
Whoever has learned to be anxious in the right way has learned the ultimate.
What wine is so sparkling, so fragrant, so intoxicating![Og hvilken Viin er saa skummende, hvilken saa duftende, hvilken saa berusende!]
What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.[Hvad er en Digter? Et ulykkeligt Menneske, der gjemmer dybe Qvaler i sit Hjerte, men hvis Læber ere dannede saaledes, at idet Sukket og Skriget strømme ud over dem, lyde de som en skjøn Musik.]
To have faith is precisely to lose one’s mind so as to win God.
To be an idealist in imagination is not at all difficult, but to have to exist as an idealist is an extremely rigorous life-task, because existing is precisely the objection to it.[At være Idealist i Indbildningen er slet ikke vanskeligt, men at skulle existere som Idealist er en yderst anstrengende Livs-Opgave, fordi det at existere netop er Indsigelsen derimod.]
To be able to forget always depends upon how one remembers, but how one remembers depends upon how one experiences actuality.[At kunne glemme beroer altid paa, hvorledes man husker; men hvorledes man husker, beroer atter paa, hvorledes man oplever Virkeligheden.]
Time passes, life is a stream, etc., so people say. That is not what I find: time stands still, and so do I.[Tiden gaaer, Livet er en Strøm, sige Menneskene, o. s. v. Jeg kan ikke mærke det, Tiden staaer stille og jeg med.]
