I don't think his disciples would've been sad or in grief. They were probably so struck with dispair that they lost any and all will and motive.
THE WANDERER—He who has attained intellectual emancipation to any extent cannot, for a long time, regard himself otherwise than as a wanderer on the face of the earth and not even as a traveller towards a final goal, for there is no such thing. But he certainly wants to observe and keep his eyes open to whatever actually happens in the world; therefore he cannot attach his heart too firmly to anything individual; he must have in himself something wandering that takes pleasure in change and transitoriness. To be sure such a man will have bad nights, when he is weary and finds the gates of the town that should offer him rest closed; perhaps he may also find that, as in the East, the desert reaches to the gates, that wild beasts howl far and near, that a strong wind arises, and that robbers take away his beasts of burden. Then the dreadful night closes over him like a second desert upon the desert, and his heart grows weary of wandering. Then when the morning sun rises upon him, glowing like a Deity of anger, when the town is opened, he sees perhaps in the faces of the dwellers therein still more desert, uncleanliness, deceit, and insecurity than outside the gates—and the day is almost worse than the night. Thus it may occasionally happen to the wanderer. But then there come as compensation the delightful mornings of other lands and days, when already in the grey of the dawn he sees the throng of muses dancing by, close to him, in the mist of the mountain; when afterwards, in the symmetry of his ante-meridian soul, he strolls silently under the trees, out of whose crests and leafy hiding-places all manner of good and bright things are flung to him, the gifts of all the free spirits who are at home in mountains, forests, and solitudes, and who, like himself, alternately merry and thoughtful, are wanderers and philosophers. Born of the secrets of the early dawn, they ponder the question how the day, between the hours of ten and twelve, can have such a pure, transparent, and gloriously cheerful countenance: they seek the ante-meridian philosophy.
- Human all too human
- Human all too human
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THE WANDERER—He who has attained intellectual emancipation to any extent cannot, for a long time, regard himself otherwise than as a wanderer on the face of the earth and not even as a traveller towards a final goal, for there is no such thing. But he certainly…
الرحّال التائه—إنّ المرء الذي حقّق الحرية الفكرية لأيِّ درجة، لا يمكنه، لفترةٍ طويلة، أنْ يكونَ شيئًا سوى رحّالٍ تائهٍ يهيمُ على وجه الأرض، وليسَ حتى مسافرًا ذو وجهةٍ نهائية، إذ لا وجود لمثل هذه الوجهة. لكنّه، مع ذلك، يجب أنْ يبقى يقظًا ويراقِب ما يحصُلُ في العالَم؛ لهذا فإنّ قلبَهُ لا يستطيع أنْ يتعلّقَ بقوة بأيِّ شيءٍ محدد؛ يجب أنْ يملكَ في نفسِه رغبةً بالتجوال تستَلِذُّ بالتغيير والزوال.
من المؤكد أنّ مثلَ هذا الإنسان سيُعاني من ليالٍ سيئة، حين يكونُ متعَبًا ويجد المدينةَ التي من المفترض أنْ توفّرَ له الراحة قد أوصدَت أبوابها في وجهِه؛ ربما يكتشفُ أيضًا، كما في الشرق، أنّ الصحراءَ تمتدُ حتى أبوابِ المدينة، ووحوش البريّة تعوي من كُلِّ حدبٍ وصَوب، وأنّ رياحًا قويةً تعصِفُ به، وأنّ اللصوص سرقوا حيواناته التي تحملُ أغراضَه. عندَها يهبطُ الليلُ عليه مثلَ صحراءَ أُخرى فوق الصحراء، فإذا بقلبِه تَعِبَ من التِرحال. وعندما تُشرقُ شمسُ الصبح عليه، وهي تشعُّ مثلَ إلهٍ غاضِب، وتفتحُ المدينةُ أبوابَها، فإذا به يرى في وجوهِ ساكنيها المزيد من الصحارى والقذارة والخِداع وانعدامِ الأمان ربما أكثر حتى مما رأى خارج أبوابِ المدينة—والنهارُ يكاد يكونُ أسوأ من الليل. هكذا يبدو الأمرُ أحيانًا لهذا المترحِّل التائه.
لكن بعدَها يُعوَّضُ بصباحاتٍ مُبهِجة في أراضٍ وأيامَ أُخرى، حيثُ يرى، والفجرُ ما زالَ رماديًا، ربّاتِ الجمالِ والإبداع تحتشدُ أمام عينيهِ وتتراقصُ في ضباب الجبل؛ ثم بعدَها، بهدوءِ روحِه الصباحية، ينغمِس بصمتٍ بين الأشجار وهي تُلقي من قِمَمِها ومخابِئها المورِقة لا شيءَ سوى الجيدِ والمُنير، هذا هو نَصيبُ كلِّ الأرواحِ الحرّة، أولئك الذين يَسكُنونَ الجبال والغابات والمُعتزَلات، والذين هُم، مثلَه، متذَبذِبونَ بينَ الوقار والمَرَح، والذينَ، مثلَهُ أيضًا، هم رحّالون وفلاسفة. مولودون من أسرارِ الفجر وهو يطلُع، يتفكّرون كيفَ أنّ اليوم، بين الساعة العاشرةِ والثانيةِ عشرة، تكونُ له هذه الطَلعةُ الصافية والشفّافةُ والمُبهِجةُ بشكلٍ عظيم: إذ هُم يبحثون عن حكمةِ الصبح.
Forwarded from Worth Fighting For
One time a random middle aged women at a bus stop told me i was really handsome, this was 14 years ago and i still remember it.
Worth Fighting For
One time a random middle aged women at a bus stop told me i was really handsome, this was 14 years ago and i still remember it.
Boys receiving a compliment once in their life:
"I bet the king himself doesn't have a view like this"
- The hunchback of Notre Dame
- The hunchback of Notre Dame