"Give us the Last Man! You can keep your Superman" cheers the crowd.

They do not understand me: I am not the mouth for these ears. I speak to them as to goatherds. Unmoved is my soul and bright as the mountains in the morning. But they think me cold and a mocker with fearful jokes. And they look at me and laugh: and laughing, they still hate me. There is ice in their laughter. The wilderness calls me in a much sweeter tone. I come too early. My time has not yet come. This great event is still on its way, Still traveling; It has not yet reached the ears of men… This deed is still more distant from them than the most distant stars - And yet they have done it themselves. What are these churches now, If not the tombs of God? I seek my solitude.