One Should Die Proudly When It Is

Not To Him Who Is Offensive To Us Are We Most Unfair, But To Him Who Doth Not Concern Us At All.

One Does Not Only Wish To Be Understood When One Writes; One Wishes Just As Surely Not To Be Understood.

What Do We Have In Common With The Rosebud, Which Trembles Because A Drop Of Dew Lies On Its Body?

On All The Walls, Wherever Walls Exist, I Will Inscribe This Eternal Indictment Of Christianity--i Have Letters To Make Even Blindmen See.... I Call Christianity The Single Great Curse, The Single Great Innermost Depravity, The Single Great Instinct Of Revenge, For Which No Means Is Poisonous, Secretive, Subterranean, Small Enough--i Call It Mankind's Single Immortal Blemish.... And We Reckon Time From The Dies Nefastus With Which This Calamity Arose--following Christianity's First Day!--why Not Following Its Last Day, Instead?--following Today?--transvaluation Of All Values!

To Our Strongest Impulse, To The Tyrant In Us, Not Only Our Reason But Also Our Conscience Yields.