Endless cycle of the same —
Ever circling, no escape —
Like a lowly ant that plods
On a Moebius strip of fate.
And yet this notion spurs me on
To soar while still I have the chance,
To make my life a thing of gold
That shines out over time and space.
(cf. The Joyful Learning, ยง341)
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Peter Saint-Andre > Writings > Nietzsche > Songs of Zarathustra