Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 95

What does your heart deplore?
And who, pray, would not fain,
If you loved him, adore?--
You're mute, but from your eye,
The tear-drop is not far,
You're mute: you'll yearn and die,
Amorosissima?




THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"[6]


"Little Angel" call they me!--
Now a ship, but once a girl,
Ah, and still too much a girl!
My steering-wheel, so bright to see,
But for sake of love doth whirl.

"Little Angel" call they me,
With hundred flags to ornament,
A captain smart, on glory bent,
Steers me, puffed with vanity
(He himself's an ornament).

"Little Angel" call they me,
And where'er a little flame
Gleams for me, I, like a lamb,
Go my journey eagerly
(I was always such a lamb!).

"Little Angel" call they me--
Think you I can bark and whine
Like a dog, this mouth of mine
Throwing smoke and flame full free?
Ah, a devil's mouth is mine.

"Little Angel" call they me--
Once I spoke a bitter word,
That my lover, when he heard,
Fast and far away did flee:
Yes, I killed him with that word!

"Little Angel" call they me:
Hardly heard, I sprang so glib
From the cliff and broke a rib:
From my frame my soul went free,
Yes, escaped me through that rib.

"Little Angel" call they me--
Then my soul, like cat in flight
Straight did on this ship alight
Swiftly bounding--one, two, three!
Yes, its claws are swift to smite.

"Little Angel" call they me!--
Now a ship, but once a girl,
Ah, and

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Text Comparison with Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen

Page 3
But the most striking thing of all, the miracle, so to speak, of this autobiography, is the absence from it of that loathing, that suggestion of surfeit, with which a life such as the one Nietzsche had led, would have filled any other man even of power approximate to his own.
Page 6
Every conquest, every step forward in knowledge, is the outcome of courage, of hardness towards one's self, of cleanliness towards one's self.
Page 15
Mortification, morbid susceptibility, the inability to wreak revenge, the desire and thirst for revenge, the concoction of every sort of poison--this is surely the most injurious manner of reacting which could possibly be conceived by exhausted men.
Page 26
I can think of absolutely no century in history, in which a netful of more inquisitive and at the same time more subtle psychologists could be drawn up together than in the Paris of the present day.
Page 31
Music, gondolas, lights-- Drunk, swam far forth in the gloom.
Page 34
" .
Page 35
Beware of all picturesque men! Life was easy--in fact easiest--to me, in those periods when it exacted the heaviest duties from me.
Page 50
) had completely lost sight.
Page 53
I know men better.
Page 62
My health was not very good; the winter was cold and exceptionally rainy; and the small _albergo_ in which I lived was so close to the water that at night my sleep was disturbed if the sea was rough.
Page 63
Alas! how in the face of such vistas, and with such burning desire in our conscience and consciousness, could we still be content with _the man of the present day_?.
Page 64
There is the feeling that one is utterly out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and titillations descending to one's very toes;--there is a depth of happiness in which the most painful and gloomy parts do not act as antitheses to the rest, but are produced and required as necessary shades of colour in such an overflow of light.
Page 67
A third thing is the absurd susceptibility of the skin to small pin-pricks, a kind of helplessness in the presence of all small things.
Page 80
I can no longer abide this race with which a man is always in bad company, which; has no idea of nuances--woe to me! I am a nuance--and which has not _esprit_ in its feet, and cannot even walk withal! In short, the Germans have no feet at all, they simply have legs.
Page 85
When the gregarious animal stands in the glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional man must be degraded to the rank of the evil.
Page 98
Strangeness is to me too dear-- Genoa has sunk and passed-- Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer! Sea before me: land--at last? Firmly let us plant our feet, Ne'er can we give up this game-- From the distance what doth greet? One death, one happiness, one fame.
Page 99
157.
Page 106
Now Lonely to me and thee, Twofold in thine own knowledge, Mid a hundred mirrors False to thyself, Mid a hundred memories Uncertain, Weary at every wound, Shivering at every frost, Throttled in thine own noose, Self-knower! Self-hangman! Why didst bind thyself With the noose of thy wisdom? Why luredst thyself Into the old serpent's paradise? Why stolest into Thyself, thyself?.
Page 110
The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and crash Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights, Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love, The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above And looms with menace of a thundercloud.
Page 118
* * * * An antiquary Is a craftsman of dead things, Who lives among coffins and skeletons.