The higher its type, the more rarely a thing succeeds. You higher men here, have you not all failed?
Be of good cheer, what does it matter? How much is still possible! Learn to laugh at yourselves as one must laugh!
Is it any wonder that you failed and only half succeeded,
being half broken? Is not something
thronging and pushing in you—man’s
future? Man’s greatest distance and
depth and what in him is lofty to the stars, his tremendous strength—are not
all these frothing against each other in your pot? Is it any wonder that many a pot breaks? Learn to laugh at yourselves as one must
laugh! You higher men, how much is still
possible!
And verily, how much has already succeeded! How rich is the earth in little good perfect
things, in what has turned out well!
Place little good perfect things around you, O higher
men! Their golden ripeness heals the
heart. What is perfect teaches hope.
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