I saw a girl at the gym yesterday. On the front side of her shirt:
God is dead.
And on the back:
Nietzsche is dead.
I didn’t know what to think. Of course I did anyway, but I’d wish I’d asked her what it meant to her.
On another note, I like some of the graffiti scrawled on the walls of the study rooms in Raushenbush. I found this particularly affecting:
I forget that every little action of the common day makes or unmakes character and that therefore what one does in the secret chamber one has some day to cry aloud on the housetops.
Today begins the long haul.