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?
– Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Section 125, tr. Walter Kaufmann
[img_assist|nid=53425|title=c|desc=|link=none|align=left|width=|height=0]
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?
– Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Section 125, tr. Walter Kaufmann
[img_assist|nid=53425|title=c|desc=|link=none|align=left|width=|height=0]