O Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are callin’,

From glen to glen, and down the mountainside,

The summer’s gone, the roses all are fallen,

And now ’tis you must go, and I must bide.

But come ye back when spring is in the meadow,

Or when the hills are hushed and white with snow,

Ye’ll find me there, in sunshine or in shadow,

O Danny Boy, O Danny Boy, I love you so.

But if ye come, and all the flowers are dyin’,

And I am dead, as dead I well may be,

Then you will find the place where I am lyin’,

And kneel and say an Ave there for me.

And I will hear, though soft you tread above me,

And then my grave will warmer, softer be,

And you will bend and tell me that you love me,

And I will wait in peace until you come to me.

—Frederic Edward Weatherly, “Danny Boy”

Listen, O judges: here is yet another madness, and that comes before the deed. Alas, you have not yet crept deep enough into this soul.

Thus speaks the red judge, “Why did this criminal murder? He wanted to rob.” But I say unto you: his soul wanted blood, not robbery; he thirsted after the bliss of the knife.

—Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra
    Translated by Walter Kaufmann