Βιβλία σαν το «Τάδε έφη Ζαρατούστρα»

I was standing by the billiard-table and in my ignorance blocking up the way, and he wanted to pass; he took me by the shoulders and without a word—without a warning or explanation—moved me from where I was standing to another spot and passed by as though he had not noticed me. I could have forgiven blows, but I could not forgive his having moved me without noticing me.

We have seen, therefore, that I am not allowed even to *assume*, for the sake of the necessary practical use of my reason *God, freedom, immortality*, unless at the same time *I deprive* speculative reason of its pretensions to transcendent insights. Reason, namely, in order to arrive at these, must employ principles which extend only to objects of possible experience, and which, if in spite of this they are applied also to what cannot be an object of experience, actually always change this into an appearance, thus rendering all practical *expansion* of pure reason impossible. Hence I had to suspend *knowledge* in order to make room for *belief*. For the dogmatism of metaphysics without a preceding critique of pure reason, is the source of all that disbelief which opposes morality and which is always very dogmatic.

Sun Tzǔ said: In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy’s country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good. So, too, it is better to capture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them.

Με το φίλο μου αυτό και μ’ έναν άλλο συμμαθητή, λιανοκόκαλο, λιγομίλητο, με γαλαζοπράσινα μάτια, ιδρύσαμε ένα καλοκαίρι, στις πάψες, μια καινούρια «Φιλική Εταιρεία». Συνεδριάζαμε κρυφά, πήραμε και δώσαμε όρκους, υπογράψαμε καταστατικά και θέσαμε σκοπό της ζωής μας: να πολεμούμε, χωρίς συμβιβασμό, σε όλη μας τη ζωή, την ψευτιά, τη σκλαβιά, την αδικία. Ο κόσμος μάς φάνηκε πως ήταν ψεύτης, άδικος, άτιμος, κι αναλάβαμε, εμείς οι τρεις, να τον σώσουμε.

What the hammer? what the chain?In what furnace was thy brain?What the anvil? what dread graspDare its deadly terrors clasp?When the stars threw down their spears,And watered heaven with their tears,Did He smile His work to see?Did He who made the lamb make thee?Tiger, tiger, burning brightIn the forests of the night,What immortal hand or eyeDare frame thy fearful symmetry?

What matter where, if I be still the same,And what I should be, all but less than heWhom thunder hath made greater? Here at leastWe shall be free; the Almighty hath not builtHere for his envy, will not drive us hence:Here we may reign secure, and in my choiceTo reign is worth ambition though in Hell:Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.