Our Vanity Is Hardest To Wound Precisely

Science And Art Have That In Common That Everyday Things Seem To Them New And Attractive.

God Is Dead. God Remains Dead. And We Have Killed Him. How Shall We Comfort Ourselves, The Murderers Of All Murderers? What Was Holiest And Mightiest Of All That The World Has Yet Owned Has Bled To Death Under Our Knives: Who Will Wipe This Blood Off Us? What Water Is There For Us To Clean Ourselves? What Festivals Of Atonement, What Sacred Games Shall We Have To Invent? Is Not The Greatness Of This Deed Too Great For Us? Must We Ourselves Not Become Gods Simply To Appear Worthy Of It?

To One Who Is Accustomed To Thinking A Lot, Every New Thought That He Hears Or Reads About Immediately Appears As A Link In A Chain.

What Then In The Last Resort Are The Truths Of Mankind? They Are The Irrefutable Errors Of Mankind.

Do You Want To Have An Easy Life? Then Always Stay With The Herd And Lose Yourself In The Herd.