Great men carry with them great regret, for the "I" that categorically refuses to repudiate its own origins does not deserve even that one letter.

The great enemy of greatness is pettiness: it's the petty things that make us disgusted with ourselves—and, because we are all obsessed with ourselves, we all become petty. The things about the world that bring you the most pain say nothing about who she is. You are petty, and for this you shall suffer.

Greatness requires the shelter of solitude—not as a shield against the wickedness of the world, but against her weakness.

You shall be vain, you great men—and this shall not be the vanity of the common, that automatic and superficial self-love, but a genuine fascination with perspective, with a world in which you are objects: lovers of mirrors, yes, but you shall know them as mirrors. You shall seek to become the masters of your own reception.

Great men walk against the sun: if you desire to follow in their footsteps, you must be prepared to live in their shadow.

     —Unless, of course, you are willing to keep your distance ...