“For a long time, the majesty of the soul free of fate has been more present to me than all else; in glorious solitude I have at times lived within myself; I have grown accustomed to shaking off outward things like flakes of snow; how, then, should I shy from seeking so-called death? have I not liberated myself a thousand times in thoughts? how, then, should I hesitate to do it one time in reality? Are we then like serfs, fettered to the soil that we plow? are we like tame fowls that may not leave the barnyard because they are fed there?” FH
