father-pain

Updated: May 26, 2025

Every pain hath torn thy heart, father-pain, fathers'-pain, forefathers'-pain; thy speech hath become ripe, Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like mine anchorite heart now sayest thou: The world itself hath become ripe, the grape turneth brown, Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness. Ye higher men, do ye not feel it? There welleth up mysteriously an odour,

Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche - Thus Spake Zarathustra : A book for all and none