When A Hundred Men Stand Together, Each

More And More It Seems To Me That The Philosopher, Being Of Necessity A Man Of Tomorrow And The Day After Tomorrow, Has Always Found Himself, And Had To Find Himself, In Contradiction To His Today: His Enemy Was Ever The Ideal Of Today. So Far All These Extraordinary Furtherers Of Men Whom One Calls Philosophers, Though They Themselves Have Rarely Felt Like Friends Of Wisdom But Rather Like Disagreeable Fools And Dangerous Question Marks, Have Found Their Task, Their Hard, Unwanted, Inescapable Task, But Eventually Also The Greatness Of Their Task, In Being The Bad Conscience Of Their Time.

The Spiritual Activity Of Millennia Is Deposited In Language.

Like Tourists Huffing And Puffing To Reach The Peak We Forget The View On The Way Up.

In This State One Enriches Everything Out Of One's Own Fullness: Whatever One Sees, Whatever Wills Is Seen Swelled, Taut, Strong, Overloaded With Strength. A Man In This State Transforms Things Until They Mirror His Power—until They Are Reflections Of His Perfection. This Having To Transform Into Perfection Is—art.

When We Have A Great Goal We Are Superior Even To Justice, Not Merely To Our Deeds And Our Judges.