All Contempt For The Sexual Life, All

The Doer Alone Learneth.

Has Anyone...any Distinct Notion Of What Poets Of A Stronger Age Understood By The Word Inspiration? ... There Is An Ecstasy Such That The Immese Strain Of It Is Sometimes Relaxed By A Flood Of Tears, Along With Which One's Steps Either Rush Or Involuntarily Lag, Alternately. There Is The Feeling That One Is Completely Out Of Hand, With The Very Distinct Consciousness Of An Endless Number Of Fine Thrills And Quiverings To The Very Toes... Everything Happens Quite Involuntarily, As If In A Tempestuous Outburst Of Freedom, Of Absoluteness, Of Power And Divinity.

Doing Ill To Those On Whom We Have To Make Our Power Felt; For Pain Is A Far More Sensitive Means For That Purpose Than Pleasure: Pain Always Asks Concerning The Cause, While Pleasure Is Inclined To Keep Within Itself And Not Look Backward.

This Demand Follows From An Insight That I Was The First To Articulate: That There Are No Moral Facts.

One Pays Dearly For Being Immortal: One Must Die Many Times During His Life.