Also Sprach der Geist von Sparta

The gods are dead.
The gods remain dead.
And I have killed them.

How shall I comfort myself, the murderer of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under my blades: who will wipe this blood off me? What water is there for me to cleanse myself? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall I have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for me? Must I myself not become a god simply to appear worthy of it?


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