Done already. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers ? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us ? What water is there for us to clean ourselves ? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent ? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us ? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it ?
Done already. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers ? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us ? What water is there for us to clean ourselves ? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent ? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us ? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it ?