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Joy, however, doth not want heirs, it doth not want children, joy wanteth itself, it wanteth eternity, it wanteth recurrence, it wanteth everything eternally-like-itself. Woe saith: "Break, bleed, thou heart! Wander, thou leg! Thou wing, fly! Onward! upward! thou pain!" Well! Cheer up! O mine old heart: WOE SAITH: "HENCE! GO!" Ye higher men, what think ye? Am I a soothsayer? Or a dreamer?
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