Nietzsche was grinning wide and red wine spilled freely from the seems of his mouth. Around him were many of his friends, Schiller and Holderlin among them, and many other young budding philosophers. Some of them were admired and revered in their own right, but next to Nietzsche they seemed like mere shadows upon a cave wall. Sometimes he would play tunes for them in the great halls of the university, deep into the night. As his fingers danced accross the keys he would seem to lose himself somewhere. Later on, they rejoice and recite poetry on the grassy hills overlooking the campus. They lie under the sprawling stars and the moonlight shone brightly down on them like truth itself. Their conversations were wild and free, like wild horses streaming over the hilltops. On this night, there was a young man sat close to Nietzsche, wide-eyed and wide-eared, writing frantically with his quill, trying to catch every word that flew from Nietzsche’s mind. What seemed mere jocularity to him seemed of greatest importance to this young man. He felt he must capture it all, for in these moments of jest, in the red swill of wine, his mind seemed to dance at its Dionysian zenith. At one point, when a silence had fell on them whilst in quiet reverie, Nietzsche looked up to the stars, and to the circle of friends around him. As if on cue a comet streaked by like the flick of a quill. Then he whispered to no-one and to all: we need only gaze up into those vast nebulas, those abyssal straits, to find enough inspiration to fill a thousand lives with wonder… we need not hail God… simply the infinite unknown! They smiled and drank to that, and gazed up at the stars for a very long time.