Books like Man Alone with Himself

I summarize Nietzsche's thoughts in this book through the following short tale:I must have followed the hippie couple in my Volvo station wagon for seventeen miles or more. They finally pulled their Volkswagon Vanagon in to a Stop-and-Save in Ventura. I eased the wagon in behind them. I hesitated, not sure whether to approach. After sitting and sweating for several minutes, watching the hippie surfer check the engine in the back, watching the hippie chick head to the ladies room, I banged my hands on the steering wheel, muttered my motto, “All life is will, dammit,” and slowly got out of the car.The hippie did not even notice me until I was standing right beside him, looking at the dead bugs on the windshield. “Howdy,” I said. “Nice day for it,” I gestured at the board he had up on top. “Yeah,” he said. He seemed shy, hesitant to address me, because of my age (I was getting on) or perhaps my appearance—my crumb encrusted beard, my bushy mustache, my wildly unkempt hair, my bulging eyes. “I always wanted to live free,” I said. “Never got the chance. Ended up calculating trajectories for the government. Grinding my shoulder for the wife and kids.” He stared at me, unsure where I was headed. He glanced back at his hippie chick, who was looking at snacks in the store. “Nothing is a given,” I said. “Except passion. Don’t deny it. Those who deny it are dead.” Was I getting through to him? “Sure thing, man,” he said, checking the oily rag he had used on the dipstick. “You … you are lucky,” I continued. “You got your freedom. Living out of a van. That’s what life is. That is what it should be. Get in a van, and just go. Hit the road. Search for the truth. Ain’t that right?” I was nodding my head, encouraging him to agree. He slowly stuffed the rag into his cargo pants. Finally he looked up and said, “Could you lend me some cash? Me and Jackie are short and we haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Typical hippies. Some gall. Procreating and nourishment—they truly are the one problem—the will to power. Well I was going to show them some will power. Teach them, if necessary. “What do I look like?! Some kind of money bags? Besides, why should I help you? You think there is such a thing as the common good? To hell with that. What can you do for me?” The hippie looked disappointed. “You won’t help us out? That’s okay. I understand.” What a degrading display of shame and belief in goodness. It left a bad taste in my mouth. So bad I had to spit. Then I went back to my car. “There is no such thing as truth!” I yelled as I pulled past them, fools, lollygagging the days away instead of having convictions—but I had convictions, convictions enough for everyone. Then I drop clutched, spun my wheels, and in a cloud of dust and sand screeched back out onto that long, hard road to nothingness.