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⣀ ⣤⣤⣀⣈ ⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⡿ ⢁⣀⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀ ⢸
⡆ ⢰⣾⣿⣿ ⢲⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴ ⢹⣿⣿⣷ ⢸
⡆⢣ ⣿⣿⣿⣄ ⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀ ⣼⣿⣿⡇ ⢸
⣿⡘⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⣤⣾⡿⣛⡿⢟ ⡹⢛⣿⡿⢿ ⢿⣷⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⢿⣶⡿ ⣼
⣿⣧⡿⢋ ⡩⢋ ⡩⢋ ⡩⢊ ⡡⢊ ⡡⢊ ⢁ ⡡⢊ ⡩⢛ ⢊ ⡡⡟⢿
your great contempt. The hour in which even your happiness turns to
nausea and likewise your reason and your virtue.
The hour in which you say: ‘What matters my happiness? It is poverty
and filth, and a pitiful contentment. But my happiness ought to justify
existence itself!’The hour in which you say: ‘What matters my reason? Does it crave
knowledge like the lion its food? It is poverty and filth and a pitiful
contentment!’
The hour in which you say: ‘What matters my virtue? It has not yet
made me rage. How weary I am of my good and my evil! That is all poverty
and filth and a pitiful contentment!’
The hour in which you say: ‘What matters my justice? I do not see that
I am ember and coal. But the just person is ember and coal!’
The hour in which you say: ‘What matters my pity? Is pity not the cross
on which he is nailed who loves humans? But my pity is no crucifixion.’