Courage
The courage of a man is indeed the most precious thing. In divine sparks, blood squirts through the veins when one clatters over the fields into battle, conscious of one’s own boldness. Under the storm’s stride, all values of the world blow away like autumn leaves. On such peaks of personality, one feels awe of oneself. What could be more sacred than the fighting man? A god? Because we must shatter against his omnipotence like a polished sphere? Oh, the noblest sentiment always dedicated itself to the weak, the individual who swung the sword in his cooling grasp for the last strike. Does not our laughter also sound moved when animals defend themselves against us, so tiny that we could…
