"My soul, to your soil I gave to drink all wisdom, all the new wines and also all the strong wines of wisdom, old with immemorial age. My soul, I watered you with every sun and night and silence and yearning: and so you grew for me like a vine. My soul, now you are overflowing with richness and heavy, a vine with swollen breasts and dense clusters, brown as gold: dense and compressed with happiness, waiting for your abundance, and ashamed even of your waiting."

Friedrich Nietzsche

Philosopher • Germany • 19th century

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