The Death of god (n.) has to be the most terrifying rejoicing.
The Death of god (n.) leaves us straying as through an infinite nothing, feeling the breath of empty space, lighting lanterns in the morning.
The Death of god (n.) is the earth unchained from its sun — the story of the last three and a half centuries of European history.
The Death of god (n.) is not the end of onto-theology but its prolongation — the technical world in which metaphysics completes itself.
The Death of god (n.) is the greatest deed there ever was: whoever is born after it belongs, for its sake, to a higher history than all history hitherto.
The Death of god (n.) leaves an empty place that demands to be occupied anew: the suprasensory realm survives the god who vanished from it.
The Death of god (n.) is accomplished as a killing whenever man secures a stock of material, bodily, psychic and spiritual resources for his own security — doing away with everything that is in itself.
The Death of god (n.) does not make what is come to nothing; as a killing it makes it different in its Being — and makes man different too, the one who does away with what is in itself.