Nietzsche:
He's looking into the horror of his existence. He is encountering times, devout angels... but he sees too much. His insignificance, this mere little speck. There he is. And now his fear becomes so raw that he welcomes lust into his mind. And he stops looking into this chasm, and he begins to spend his time recollecting these miracles as how this little crippled person moves her legs, her lips, and her arms, and her breasts. And his mind, which was built for the noblest of ideas, becomes clogged now, with trash.
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05/03/2025 alle ore 08:34
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