Sometimes it hurts me that there should be less feeling and more intelligence. I seemed more sincere before. But if to be sincere means to throw one’s self overboard, it was a sincerity of defeat. To commit suicide is easy. To live without a god is more difficult. The drunkenness of triumph is greater than the drunkenness of sacrifice. I no longer need to do so much to cover the ineffectually of my inner transmutations, to substitute for understanding. I need to do little, but with a great deal of strength.
