

A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation.
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The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality.
One receives as reward for much ennui, despondency, boredom-such as a solitude without friends, books, duties, passions must bring with it-those quarter-hours of profoundest contemplation within oneself and nature. He who completely entrenches himself against boredom also entrenches himself against himself: he will never get to drink the strongest refreshing draught from his own innermost fountain.
But say, my brothers, what can the child do that even the lion could not do? Why must the preying lion still become a child? The child is innocence and forgetting, a new beginning, a sacred 'Yes.' For the game of creation, my brothers, a sacred 'Yes' is needed: the spirit now wills his own will, and he who had been lost to the world now conquers his own world.
Against boredom even gods struggle in vain.
The root of this possibility of doing good - that we all have - is in creation.
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