Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen

By Friedrich Nietzsche

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.


The cawing crows
Townwards on whirring pinions roam;
Soon come the snows--
Thrice happy now who hath a home!

Fast-rooted there,
Thou gazest backwards--oh, how long!
Thou fool, why dare
Ere winter come, this world of wrong?

This world--a gate
To myriad deserts dumb and hoar!
Who lost through fate
What thou hast lost, shall rest no more.

Now stand'st thou pale,
A frozen pilgrimage thy doom,
Like smoke whose trail
Cold and still colder skies consume.

Fly, bird, and screech,
Like desert-fowl, thy song apart!
Hide out of reach,
Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart.

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.

The cawing crows
Townwards on whirring pinions roam:
Soon come the snows--
Woe unto him who hath no home!

_My Answer_

The man presumes--
Good Lord!--to think that I'd return
To those warm rooms
Where snug the German ovens burn

My friend, you see
'Tis but thy folly drives me far,--
Pity for _thee_
And all that German blockheads are!


ON the

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Text Comparison with Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen

Page 4
As German philosophies, however, are said to go to Oxford only when they die, we may, perhaps, conclude from this want of appreciation in that quarter, how very much alive Nietzsche's doctrine still is.
Page 8
Page 21
) But as to German cookery in general--what has it not got on its conscience! Soup _before_ the meal (still called _alla tedesca_ in the Venetian cookery books of the sixteenth century); meat boiled to shreds, vegetables cooked with fat and flour; the degeneration of pastries into paper-weights! And, if you add thereto the absolutely bestial post-prandial drinking habits of the _ancients,_ and not alone of the ancient Germans, you will understand where German intellect took its origin--that is to say, in sadly disordered intestines.
Page 34
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Page 56
Every kind of life, the most unfavourable circumstances, illness, poverty--anything seemed to me preferable to that undignified "selfishness" into which I had fallen; in the first place, thanks to my ignorance and youth, and in which I had afterwards remained owing to laziness--the so-called "sense of duty.
Page 57
in bandages, and extremely painful, I dictated while he wrote and corrected as he went along--to be accurate, he was the real composer, whereas I was only the author.
Page 61
The last poem of all, "To the Mistral,"--an exuberant dance song in which, if you please, the new spirit dances freely upon the corpse of morality,--is a perfect Provençalism.
Page 68
Through him all contradictions are bound up into a new unity.
Page 86
Up to the present Christian morality has been the Circe of all thinkers--they stood at her service.
Page 89
Page 90
All this am I--shuddering I feel it all-- O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower, The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall, The moaning storm--all symbols of thy power,-- Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed, With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting, I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud For Life, for Life, for Life--forever thirsting! O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask, That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven.
Page 96
" Wisdom speaks--I credit naught: Rather hops and stings like flea: "Woman seldom harbours thought; If she thinks, no good is she!" To this wisdom, old, renowned, Bow I in deep reverence: Now my wisdom I'll expound In its very quintessence.
Page 97
Page 103
OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST Ten years passed by-- Not a drop reached me, No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love --A rainless land.
Page 104
May truth approach me to-day Gilded by smiles, Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,-- A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree.
Page 108
Fearful beneath the weight of victory, Yet chanting, as both victory and death Came hand and hand to him.
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20 Such is my will: .
Page 117
A star went out in the desolate void, And lone was the void.