God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves?
Text: Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Section 125, tr. Walter Kaufmann
Image: Rosso Fiorentino, Pietà, c. 1540, Musée du Louvre
