When Nietzsche Wept Page #4

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is stressing itself.

Great thinkers choose

their own company, no?

U ndisturbed by

the mob.

Oonsider Thoreau,

Spinoza, Buddha.

Professor.

Stress is

our enemy.

My task is to help you

reduce stress in your life.

I propose that you

enter my Lauzon clinic

for one month of

observation and treatment.

We have new medications for migraine.

I will visit

you daily.

I'm unable to pay...

for such services.

Money doesn't

matter to me.

It will be free.

And why are you doing this?

You came to

me for help.

I offer it.

I'm a doctor.

Far too simple.

H uman motivation

is far more complex.

What is

your motive?

Why are

you here?

Because of pressure from

my friends and my headaches.

I ask again. What is your motive

if you don't request

payment for such services.

One practices

one's profession.

A cobbler cobbles.

A baker bakes.

A doctor doctors.

Why do you write?

Why philosophize?

You want nothing

from your work.

I do not claim I philosophize for you.

Whereas you, doctor,

continue to pretend

that your motive

is to serve me.

Such claims have nothing

to do with human motivation.

Now what

are your motives?

My motives?

Yes!

My motives?!

Who can answer

such a question?

I believe you

are destined

to become

a great philosopher.

My mission is to aid you

in becoming who you are.

So you as my savior

can become even greater?

I did not

say that!

Do you know

my patients

are the leading scientists

and musicians in Vienna?

Yes, and at this moment

you use their eminence

to enhance your

authority with me!

I will never

exploit your name.

I will still be used by you!

Nonsense!

Your charity, your

techniques to help me?

To manage me!

All of these with you

stronger at my expense!

This is a perfect

example of why

you cannot dissect

your own psyche!

Your vision is

blurred, Professor!

You need help!

You are about to make a mistakel

Then go

already!

You crazed

deluded creature!

Shabbat Shalom.

Oome here!

The old Bishop,

N ietzsche,

he's dying

in my hotel!

Get me

some ice!

Dear God!

Bring me

some blankets!

Herr Professor.

Professor Nietzsche.

Friedrich I

Take the pain.

Take the pain in.

You will

feel better.

Help me.

That much chlorine

is a poison

in the sleeping juice

so you could have died.

Oh, living, dying,

who cares?

I shall be in your office

tomorrow with what I owe.

Before my train

leaves for Basel.

Basel?

Yes.

Not until this crisis is over.

I'm leaving tomorrow.

You know, part of me holds some...

strange hope that by

helping this bizarre creature

overcome his

own suffering,

I might

defeat my own.

Defeat your suffering?

You're the envy of

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