It is a harsh word but still I say it, because it is the truth; I can think of no people more fragmented that the … craftsmen you see, but no humans, thinkers but no humans, priests but o humans, lords and servants, boys and established people but no humans – is this not like a battlefield, where hands and arms and all limbs lie chaotically in pieces, while the spilled  blood of life runs into the sand. (from Holderlin’s ‘Hyperion’ (The Hermit of Greece) 1797 and 1799.

Truly, my friends, I wander among men as among fragments and limbs of humans. This is what is horrifying to my eyes, that I find men in ruins and scattered about as on a battlefield and butcher field. And if my gaze flees from the present to the past: it finds always the same thing: fragments and piles of limbs and grisly accidents – but no humans! (from Nietzsche’s ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra,’ XLII On Redemption (1883).

This is part of the world of ‘The Fugitive Stag’ …