/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.17116637]

how can one man be so based?

[Anonymous No.17116673]

>>17116637
Easy.

[Anonymous No.17116688]

>>17116673
DELETE

[Anonymous No.17116699]

>>17116688
I'm sorry. Check em.

[Anonymous No.17117141]

>>17116699
oh fuck yeah, checked

[Anonymous No.17117461]

>>17116637
>>17116673
To Richard Wagner

My wishes reach you with a limp, You have to forgive me this time, beloved Master. I'm thinking of my bodily instability and weakness, and marvel at your robustness, which lead you to fight your way through the maze of new tasks, difficulties, annoyances, fatigue that came with the last few years; so that I don't even have any right to wish you anything further in that respect. (If I could just learn something from you instead!) When I think of your life, I have always felt the sense of its dramatical course: as if you were such a pure dramatist, that you are always living in that form and that you could only die with the final act. When everything stresses and storms towards one destination, Chance evades, maybe it is terrified. Everything becomes necessary and iron, with extraordinary emotion: just like I find your expression on the beautiful medallion that I was recently gifted. We other humans are always flickering a bit, so that not even our health remains steady.
Now I want to tell you how I found a strangely beautiful prophecy, that I dearly wanted to send you for your birthday.
It says:

(Hölderlin's Gesang des Deutschen, with three lines in cursive, that paint Wagner as the German ideal genius that has yet to come)

All that says poor Hölderlin, who didn't share my luck and who could only guess, what we would venture to see.
Truly, beloved Master, to write to you at your birthday always means: to wish fortune and health to u s, so we would be able to witness Y o u. Because, I must say: it's the "being sick" and the egoism that hides in sickness, that leads them to think of themselves, while the genius, in the immensity of his health, always thinks of others, instinctively blessing and healing anything his hand touches. "Every sick man is a wretch", I recently read; and who can count man's sicknesses! On your journeys in Germany you surely heard a lot, e.f. about the common illness of "Hartmannianism".

Farewell, Dear Master,
and unlike us, stay in good health!
Loyally devoted, your Friedrich Nietzsche

[Anonymous No.17117522]

Reading the Greeks to your brain cancer.

[Anonymous No.17117572]

>>17116637
I'm bringing together the bowler hat gang

[Anonymous No.17117834]

>>17116637

[Anonymous No.17118074]

>>17117461
kek. so this is the power of the ubermenschen.