There Is An Innocence In

The Hour-hand Of Life.

From The Sun Did I Learn This, When It Goeth Down, The Exuberant One: Gold Doth It Then Pour Into The Sea, Out Of Inexhaustible Riches, -so That The Poorest Fisherman Roweth Even With Golden Oars! For This Did I Once See, And Did Not Tire Of Weeping In Beholding It. - Like The Sun Will Also Zarathustra Go Down: Now Sitteth He Here And Waiteth, Old Broken Tables Around Him, And Also New Tables Half-written.

Something Might Be True While Being Harmful And Dangerous In The Highest Degree. Indeed, It Might Be A Basic Characteristic Of Existence That Those Who Know It Completely Would Perish, In Which Case The Strength Of A Spirit Should Be Measured According To How Much Of The 'truth' One Could Still Barely Endure- Or To Put It More Clearly, To What Degree One Would Require It To Be Thinned Down, Shrouded, Sweetened, Blunted, Falsified.

Carlyle, A Man Of Strong Words And Attitudes, A Rhetorician Out Of Necessity, Constantly Aroused By The Craving For A Strong Faithas Well As By The Feeling Of An Incapacity For It (min This Respect A Typical Romantic!).... Fundamentally, Carlyle Is An English Atheist Who Makes It A Point Of Honor Not To Be One.

Whoever Turns Away From Us Might Not Offend Us In Doing So Perhaps, But He Certainly Offends Our Followers.