He is dead who called me into being, and when I shall be no more the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish.

After your death, you will be what you were before your birth.

At any moment when you are you, you are you without the memory of yourself because if you remember yourself while you are you, you are not for the purposes of creating you.

How little remains of the man I once was, save the memory of him! But remembering is only a new form of suffering.

there is no recollection which time does not put an end to, and no pain which death does not remove.

There is no memory that time does not efface, no pain that death does not destroy.

It doesn't matter who my father was, it matters who I remember he was.

If any man ceases to attack me, I never remember the past against him.

I do not think much of a man who is not wiser today than he was yesterday.

But he will fear least to become nothing in death who has recognized that he is already nothing now, and who consequently no longer takes any share in his individual phenomenon, because in him knowledge has, as it were, burnt up and consumed the will, so that no will, thus no desire for individual existence, remains in him any more.

Far better for a man that he had never been born than that he should degrade a pulpit into a show box to exhibit himself in.

I do not think much of a man who is not wiser today than he was yesterday,

Birth means nothing where there is no virtue.

I do not wish you to believe that I assume to be any better than others who have gone before me.