Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Unedited: 2015

Thus Spoke Zarathustra
by Friedrich Nietzsche
Tranlated from German into English by
Nicola Christiane Grobe
(Unedited and uncompleted version)
　

A book for all or nobody

Content of book:
First Part
Zarathustra's Introduction
The speeches of Zarathustra
Of the three metamorphoses
From the teaching positions of virtue
From the backworld persons
From the despisers of the bodies
From the pleasures- and passions
From the pale criminal
From reading and writing
From the tree at the mountain
From the preachers of death
From war and war folks
From the new idol
From the flies of the market place
From the chastity
From the friend
From a thousand and one goal
From the love for the followers or fellows(?)
From the path of the creating person
From old and young women
From the bite of the snake
From child and marriage
From suicide
From the giving virtue
Second Part
The child with the mirror
On the happy islands
From the compassionate persons
From the priests
From the virtuous persons
From the dysfunctional folks
From the tarantulas
From the famous wise persons
The Night Song
The Dance Song
The Grave Song
From the self overcoming
From the superior ones
From the country of education
From the unstained recognition
From the scholars
From the poets
From grand incidents
The fortune teller
From the rescue
From the intelligence of humans
The most silent hour
Third Part
The hiker
From face and enigma
From the unwanted complacency
Before dusk
From the mind lowering virtue
On top of the oil mountain
From passing by
From those who left society
The home coming
From the three bad ones
From the character of heaviness
From old and new tablets
The healed one
From the great yearning
The other dance song
The seven secrecies (Or: the Yes and Amen song)
Fourth and last Part
The Honey Victim
The scream for help
Talk with the kings
The leech
The sorcerer
Not in service
The ugliest human
The voluntary pan handler
The shadow
At noon
The greeting
The last supper
From the higher human
The song of depression
From the science
Among daughters of the desert
The wakening
The donkey party
The night walker song
The sign

First Part
Zarathustra's introduction
1.
When Zarathustra was 30 years old he left his home and the lake of his home and he went into the mountains. Here he enjoyed his mind and his solitude and he did not get tired of it for ten years. Finally he had a change of heart, - and one morning he got up at dusk, stepped in front of the sun and spoke to her thus:
"You great star! What would be your happiness if you had not those whom you illuminate!
Ten years have you come up to my cave: you would have become tired of your light and path without me, my eagle and my snake.
But we waited for you every morning, accepted your abundance and praised you for it.
Look! I am heavy from my wisdom, like the bee, who had collected too much honey, I am in need of reaching my hands out.
I want to give and donate, until the wise people among humans once again have enjoyed their naivity and the poor for once have enjoyed their wealth.
For this I have to step into the depth: like you do this in the evening, when you walk behind the ocean and yet give the underworld light, you abundant star!
I must, like you, _descend_, like the humans call it, to whom I want to walk down.
So give me comfort, you calm eye, which without envy also can see overwhelming joy!
Bless the cup which wants to overflow, that the water flows out golden and that it carries everywhere your radiation of peace!
Look, this cup wants to become empty again, and Zarathustra wants to become human again."
- So began Zarathustra's descend.
2.
Zarathustra hiked down on the mountain and nobody met him. But as he walked into the woods there stood an elderly man before him all of the sudden, who had left his holy hut, to collect roots in the forest. And thus spoke the elderly man to Zarathustra:
Not strange seems to me this wanderer: Some years ago he passed by here. Zarathustra was his name; But he has changed. Back then you carried your ashes to the mountains: do you want to carry your fire today into the valleys? Don't you fear the arsonist's punishment?
Yes, I recognize Zarathustra. Pure is his eye, and at his mouth there is no disgust concealed. Doesn't he therefore walk like a dancer?
Changed is Zarathustra, he has changed into a child, an enlightened one is Zarathustra: what do you want near the unconscious persons?
Like in the ocean you lived in solitude, and the ocean carried you. Beware, you want to climb on shore? Beware, you want to drag your body yourself?
Zarathustra answered: "I love the humans."
Why, said the holy man, did I go into the forest and into the reclusion?
Was it not because I loved the humans all too much?
Now I love God: the humans I don't love. The human is a too uncompleted thing for me. Love for humans would kill me.
Zarathustra answered: "What did I speak about love! I bring to the humans a present."
Give them nothing, said the holy man. Rather take a burden from them and carry it with them - this will be the most soothing for them: when he only soothes you!
And did you want to give them something, so don't give anymore than a pittance, and let them yet beg for it!
"No", answered Zarathustra, "I don't give a pittance. For that I am not poor enough."
The holy man laughed about Zarathustra and spoke thus: So make sure that they accept your treasures! They are suspicious of the recluses, and they don't believe that we are coming in order to give.
Our steps sound too lonely through their alley ways. And like when they are in bed at night and hear a man walk, long before the sun rises, so they will ask themselves most likely: where does the thief want to go to?
Don't go to the humans and stay in the forest! Rather go to the animals! Why don't you want to be like me, - a bear among bears, a bird among birds?
"And what does the holy man do in the forest?" asked Zarathustra.
The holy man answered: I make songs and sing them, and when I make songs, I laugh, cry and moan: so I praise God.
Through singing, crying, laughing and moaning do I praise the God, who is my God. Yet what do you bring us as a present?
When Zarathustra heard those words, he greeted the holy man and spoke: "What did I have to give to you! But let me quickly leave, so that I don't take anything from you!" - And so they parted, the elderly man and the younger man, laughing, like two boys are laughing.
But when Zarathustra was alone he spoke to his heart: "Should it then be possible! This old holy man has in his forest not heard yet that _God_is_dead!" -
3.
When Zarathustra came into the next village which sits next to the forests, he found there many people gathering at the market place: Because it was announced that one would see an acrobat. And Zarathustra spoke to the folks:
I teach you the superhuman. The human is something that shall be overcome. What have you done to overcome him?
"All beings have so far achieved something above themselves: And you want to be the low tide of this high tide and rather go back to the animal states, rather than to overcome the human?"
What is the monkey to the human? A laughter or a painful embarrassment.
You have gone the path from worm to human, and much in you is still worm. Once you were monkeys, and even now is the human more moneky than any monkey is.
But whoever is the wisest of you, is still only a twilight and hybrid of plant and ghost. But do I tell you to become plants and ghosts?
See, I teach you the superhuman!
The superhuman is the meaning of the Earth. Your intention should say: the superhuman _be_ the meaning of the Earth!
I swear to you, my brothers, _stay_faithful_to_the_Earth_ and don't believe those who talk to you about supernatural hopes!
Poison mixers are those whether they know it or not.
Contempters of life are those, dying and themselves poisoned, who are tired of the Earth: so may they pass away!
Once the crime against God was the worst crime, but God died, and with him those criminals. To disrespect the Earth is now the worst, and also the worst is to respect the matter of the unresearchable as higher than the meaning of the Earth!
Once looked the soul contemptously on to the body: and back then was this contempt the highest: - She wanted him anorexic, horrible, and starved. That's how she thought to elope from him and the Earth.
Oh, this soul was still anorexic herself, horrible and starved: and gruesomeness was the pleasure of this soul!
But still you, my brothers, talk to me: what reveals your body of your soul? Is your soul not poverty and dirt and pitiful complacency?
Truly, a dirty stream is the human. One has to be an ocean in order to accomodate a dirty stream, without becoming unclean.
See, I teach you the superhuman: he is this ocean, in him can your great contempt dissolve.
What is the greatest that you can experience? That is the hour of your deep contempt. The hour in which also your joy will become your disgust and also your reasoning and your virtue.
The hour in which you say: "What is the meaning of my joy! It is poverty and dirt, and a pitiful complacency. But my joy itself should justify my existence!"
The hour in which you say: "What is the meaning of my reasoning! Does she desire knowledge like the lion desires his food? She is poverty and dirt and a pitiful complacency!"
The hour in which you say: "What is the meaning of my virtue! She has yet not made me rage. How tired am I of my good and my bad! All that is poverty and dirt and a pitiful complacency!"
The hour in which you say: "What is the meaning of my justice! I don't see that I was glowing and ashes. But the fair person is glowing and ashes!"
The hour in which you say: "What is the meaning of my compassion! Is compassion not the cross, onto which the person is being nailed who loves the humans? But my compassion is not a crucifixion."
Did you speak so yet? Did you scream so yet? Ach, as if I had heard you scream like this yet!
Not your sin - your placidness screams to the sky, your stinginess itself in your sin screams to the sky!
Where is still the flash, who licked you with his tongue? Where is the insanity with which you should be vaccinated?
See, I teach you the superhuman: He is this flash, he is this insanity!" -
When Zarathustra had spoken, one person screamed from the folk: "We heard enough from the acrobat; now let us see him as well!"
And all folks laughed about Zarathustra. But the acrobat, who believed that the word was directed at him, began to work.
4.
But Zarathustra observed the folk and wondered. Then he spoke so:
The human is a rope, knitted between animal and superhuman, - a rope over an abyss.
A dangerous transgression, a dangerous on-the-road, a dangerous retrospection, a dangerous shuddering and standing still.
What is great about the human is, that he is a bridge and not a means: what can be loved about the human, is that he is a _transition_ and a
_demise_.
I love those who don't know how to live, be it as those who go down, since its the transitioners.
I love the great despisers, because they are the great admirers and they are arrows of desire towards the other shore.
I love those who don't only search for ground behind the stars, in order to go down and become a victim: rather those who sacrifice themselves to the Earth, so that the Earth one day will belong to the superhuman.
I love the person who lives in order to recognize, and who wants to recognize so that one day the superhuman lives. And that's how he wants his demise.
I love the person who works and invents so that he builds the house for the superhuman and prepares him soil, animal and plant: because that's how he wants his demise.
I love the person who loves his virtue: Because virtue is the readiness for demise and an arrow of desire.
I love the person who doesn't withhold a drop of his mind, but who wants to completely be the mind of his virtue: so he walks as a mind over the bridge.
I love the person who makes out of his virtue his emphasis and his doom: So he wants to still live for the virtue and not any more live.
I love the person who does not want to have too many virtues. One virtue is more virtue, than two, because it is more knots onto which the doom hangs.
I love the person whose soul squanders itself, who does not want to receive gratitude, and who does not give back: because he gives all the time and does not want to conserve himself.
I love the person who feels shame when the dice falls towards his luck and who then asks: Am I therefore a false player? - because he wants to go down.
I love the person who throws golden words ahead of his deeds and still does more than he promises: because he wants his demise.
I love the person who justifies the future generation and relieves the past generation: because he wants to go down through the present generation.
I love the person who trains his god, because he loves his god: because he must go down through the wrath of his god.
I love the person whose soul is deep also in hurt, and who can go down through a small incident: so he likes to go over the bridge.
I love the person whose soul is abundant, so that he forgets himself, and all things are in him: so will all things be his demise.
I love the person who is free of mind and free of heart: so is his head only the viscera of his heart, his heart however drives him to his demise.
I love all those who are heavy drops, falling singularly out of the dark cloud, which hangs over the humans: they proclaim that the flash is coming, and go down as proclaimers.
See, I am a proclaimer of the flash and a heavy drop from the cloud: but this flash is called superhuman. -
5.
When Zarathustra had spoken those words, he observed the folks and remained silent. "There they stand", he spoke to his heart, "there they laugh: they don't understand me, I am not the mouth for those ears.
Must one yet shatter their ears, so that they learn to hear with their eyes? Must one rattle like drums and preachers of penitence? Or do they only believe the babbling person?
They have something which they are proud of. How do they call it which makes them proud? Education is what they call it, it elevates them above the goat herders.
Therefore they don't like to hear from themselves the word 'despise'. Therefore I want to talk to their pride.
Therefore I want to speak to them about the most despised: But this is _the_last_human_."
And thus spoke Zarathustra to the folk:
It is time that the human stacks up his goal. It is time that the human plants the seed of his highest hope.
Still is his ground rich enough for this. But this ground will one day be poor and meek, and no high tree will be able to grow out of it any more.
Beware! It comes the time in which the human can not throw the arrow of his desire beyond the human, and where the string of his bow has unlearned to vibrate!
I tell you: one must still have chaos in themselves, in order to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: you still have chaos in you.
Beware! It comes the time, in which the human will not give birth to a star any more. Beware! It comes the time of the most despised human who can not despise himself any more.
See! I show you _the_last_human_.
"What is love? What is creation? What is desire? What is star." - so asks the last human and squints his eyes.
The Earth has become small then, and on her jumps the last human who makes everything small. His breed is inextinguishable, like the Earth flea; the last human lives the longest.
"We have invented happiness" - say the last humans and squint their eyes.
They have left the areas where it was hard to live: Because one needs warmth. Yet one loves the neighbor and rubs himself on him: Because one needs warmth.
Becoming ill and having mistrust they see as sinful: one moves ahead cautiously. A fool who even trips over stones or humans!
A bit of poison once in a while: that makes comfortable dreams. And much poison in the end for a comfortable dying.
One works still since work is an entertainment. But one makes sure that the entertainment does not become overstraining.
One does not become poor and rich: both are too burdensome. Who wants to still govern? Who still obey? Both are too burdensome.
No shepherd and no herd! Everybody wants the same, everybody is the same: whoever is different goes voluntarily into the insane asylum.
"In the past all world was insane" - say the most noble ones and squint their eyes.
One is smart and knows everything what has happened: therefore one has no end in sight. One fights yet but reconciled again - otherwise it upsets the stomach.
One has their little pleasures for the day and their pleasures for the night: but one values health.
"We have invented happiness" - say the last humans and squint their eyes -
And here ended the first speech of Zarathustra, which one also calls the "introduction": because at this point interrupted him the screaming and the joy of the crowd. "Give us this last human, oh Zarathustra, - so they called - make us into those last humans! So we give you the superhuman!" And all folks cheered and clucked with the tongue. But Zarathustra became sad and said to his heart:
They don't understand me: I am not the mouth for those ears.
Too long, I believe, did I live in the mountains, too much did I listen to the streams and trees: now I talk to them like the goat herders.
Unmoving is my soul and light like the mountains before noon. But they think I was cold and a mocker in horrible jokes.
And now they look at me and laugh: and whilst they laugh they yet hate me. It is ice in their laughing.
6.
But there happened something which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed. In the meantime namely had the acrobat begun his work: he had stepped out of a small door and walked over the rope which was spanned between two towers so that it hung over the market place and the people. As he just was in the middle of his way the small door opened once again and a colorful fellow like a clown jumped out and walked with fast steps after the first one. "Move ahead, lame foot", called his horrible voice, "move ahead, sloth, smuggler, pasty face! That I don't tickle you with my heel! What are you doing here between towers? Into the tower you belong, one should imprison you, you block the way for a better person than you are!" - And with every word he came closer and closer towards him: but when he was only just one step behind him there happened the shocking which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed: - he emitted a screaming like a devil and he jumped over the person who was in his way. But the person as he saw his competitor win like this, lost his head and his rope; he threw his rod away and shot faster than the rod, like a whirlpool of arms and legs, into the abyss. The market place and the people resembled the ocean when the storm drives in: All fleed apart and above one another, and mostly there where the body was to beat down.
But Zarathustra stood still, and just beneath him fell the body down, badly hurt and shattered, but not yet dead. After a while the shattered one gained his consciousness back, and he saw Zarathustra kneeling next to him. "What are you doing there?" he finally said, "I knew this for a long time that the devil would set me a leg to fall over. Now he drags me to hell: do you want to blame him?"
"With my honor, my friend", answered Zarathustra, "that all does not exist what you are talking about: there is no devil and no hell. Your soul will yet be faster dead than your body: fear nothing any more now!"
The man looked up suspiciously. "If you speak the truth", he said then, "so I don't lose anything, if I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal which one had taught to dance, through beatings and little food."
"Don't say that", spoke Zarathustra; "you have created your profession out of the danger, on this is nothing to disrespect. Now you go down through your profession: for that I want to burry you with my hands."
When Zarathustra had said this, the dying person did not respond any more; but he moved the hand as if he was searching for the hand of Zarathustra to thank him.
7.
In the meantime came the evening, and the market place obscured itself in darkness: there dispersed the people because even curiosity and horror become tired. But Zarathustra sat beside the dead person on the ground and was absorbed in thoughts: that's how he forgot the time. But finally it became night time, and a cold wind blew over the lonely person. There Zarathustra got up and said to his heart:
Indeed, a beautiful catch had Zarathustra today! No human did he catch, but a corpse.
Eerie is the human existence and still without meaning: a clown can become his demise.
I want to teach the humans the meaning of their existences: which is the superhuman, the flash from the dark cloud human.
But I am still distant to them, and my sense does not talk to their senses. I am still an intermediate to the humans between a joker and a corpse.
Dark is the night, dark are the paths of Zarathustra. Come, you cold and rigid fellow! I carry you towards where I bury you with my hands.
8.
When Zarathustra had said this to his heart he loaded the corpse on to his back and moved on. And not yet had he walked a hundred steps, there stalked him a human and whispered in his ear - "and see! He who talked was the clown from the tower. Go away from this town, oh Zarathustra", he said; "Too many hate you here. The good and righteous ones hate you and they call you their enemy and despiser; The believers of the right belief hate you and they call you the danger of the masses. Your luck it was that you have given company to the dead dog; as you humiliated yourself like that, have you rescued yourself for today. But go away from this town - or tomorrow I will jump over you, a living over a dead one." And as he had said this, the human disappeared; But Zarathustra continued to walk through the dark alleys.
At the gates of the town he met the gravediggers: they illuminated him with their torch into his face, recognized Zarathustra and bullied him very heavily. "Zarathustra carries the dead dog away: good for him that Zarathustra had become a gravedigger! Because our hands are too clean for this roast meat. Does Zarathustra maybe want to steal the meal from the devil? Go ahead! And good luck for your meal! If only the devil might not be a better thief, than Zarathustra! - he steals them both, he eats them both!" And they laughed together and put their heads together.
Zarathustra said nothing to that and continued on his path. After he had walked for two hours, past forests and bogs, there he had heard too much of the hungry houling of the wolves, and he himself had become hungry. Therefore he stopped at a lonely house in which a light was shining.
The hunger overcomes me, said Zarathustra, like a bandit. In forests and bogs raids me my hunger and in deep night.
Strange moods has my hunger. Often he comes to me only after the meal, and today he did not come for the whole day: where did he hide?
And with this Zarathustra beat on the gate of the house. An old man appeared; he carried the light and asked: "Who comes to me and to my bad sleep?"
"A living and a dead person", said Zarathustra. "Give me to eat and to drink, I forgot it during the day. He who feeds the hungry person, nourishes his own soul: that's how the wisdom speaks."
The old man walked away, but came back quickly and offered Zarathustra bread and wine. "A harsh area it is for starving persons", he said; "that's why I live here. Animals and humans come to me, the recluse. But also allow your companion to eat and drink, he is more tired then you." Zarathustra answered: "Death is my companion, I will hardly talk him into it." "This is not my business", said the old man grumpily; "who knocks onto my house has to take what I offer him. Eat and fare well!" -
After that Zarathustra walked again for two hours and trusted the path and the light of the stars: because he was a skilled night walker, and love it to look into the face of all sleeping. But when the morning faded in, Zarathustra found himself in a deep forest, and no path showed itself to him anymore. There he laid the dead person into a hollow tree above his head - because he wanted to protect him from the wolves - and he laid himself on the ground and the moss. And soon he fell asleep, his body tired, but with an unmoved soul.
9.
Long slept Zarathustra, and not only the morning red glow wandered over his face, but also the morning before noon. Finally his eye opened: wonderstruck Zarathustra looked into the forest and the silence, wonderstruck he looked into himself. Then he quickly got up, like a sailor, who all of the sudden views land, and he cheered: because he saw a new truth. And so he then talked to his heart:
A light came on in me: Companions I need, and living ones, - not dead companions and corpses, who I carry with me whereever I want to go.
But living companions I need, who follow me, because they want to follow themselves - and whereever I want to go.
A light came on in me: not to the folks should Zarathustra talk, but to companions! Zarathustra should not become the shepherd and the dog to the herd!
In order to lure many away from the herd - that's why I came. Should folk and herd be enraged about me: robber is what Zarathustra wants to call the shepherd.
Shepherd I say, but they call themselves the good and fair. Shepherd I say: but they call themselves the believers of the right belief.
Look at the good and fair! Who do they hate the most? Him, who breaks the tablets of their value, the breacher, the criminal: - yet this is the productive one.
Companions are what the productive one is searching for and not corpses, and also not herds and believers. The co-productive ones is what the productive one is looking for, those, who write new values on to new tablets.
Companions are what the productive one is searching for, and co-harvesters: because all is standing with him ready for harvesting. But he is missing the hundred crop cutters: so he tears crop ears out and is angry.
Companions are what the productive one is searching for, and such, who know how to grind their crop cutters. Annihilators will one call them and despisers of the good and the bad. But the harvesters are they and the celebrating ones.
Co-producers are what Zarathustra is looking for, co-harvesters and co-celebrators are what Zarathustra is looking for: what is he doing with herds and shepherds and corpses!
And you, my first companion, be safe! I buried you well in your hollow tree, I protected you well from the wolves.
But I am parting from you, the time has come. Between dusk and dusk came a new truth to me.
Not shepherd should I be, not gravedigger. Not talking once again to the folks do I want to do; for the last time did I speak to a dead person.
The productive ones, the harvesting ones, the celebrating ones will I accompany: the rainbow do I want to show them and all those stairs of the superhuman.
To the recluses I will sing my song and to the two-person-recluses; and who still has ears for unheard of things I want to make his heart heavy with my joy.
Towards my goal I want, I walk my path; above the hesitant ones and those complacent with limitations I want to jump. So be my path their demise!
10.
This has Zarathustra spoken to his heart, when the sun stood at noon: there he looked inquisitively into the hight - because he heard above him the sharp calling of a bird. And see! An eagle drew in wide circles through the air, and on him hung a snake, not like a prey, but like a girl friend: because she kept herself curled around his neck.
"Is is my animals!" said Zarathustra and felt joy in his heart.
"The proudest animal under the sun and the smartest animal under the sun - they have gone out for exploring.
They want to find out whether Zarathustra was still alive. Indeed, do I still live?
More dangerous did I find it under humans than under animals, dangerous paths does Zarathustra walk on. May my animals lead me!"
When Zarathustra had said this he thought about the words of the holy man in the forest, sighed and spoke thus to his heart:
May I be smarter! May I be smart all the way through like my snake!
But the impossible I wish for there: so therefore I wish from my pride that he always walks with my smartness!
And when one day my smartness leaves me: - ach, she loves it to fly away! - may yet my pride then fly with my foolishness!
- So began Zarathustra's demise.
The speeches of Zarathustra
Of the three metamorphoses
Three metamorphoses do I call you of the mind: how the mind becomes a camel, and the camel becomes the lion, and the lion lastly becomes the child.
Much heaviness is loaded onto the mind, the strong, load bearing mind in which lives awe: for the heavy and heaviest longs his strength.
What is heavy? So asks the load bearing mind, so he kneels down like the camel and wants to be well loaded.
What is the heaviest, you heroes? So asks the load bearing mind, that I take it on and become happy about my strength.
Is it not this: to humiliate oneself in order to hurt one's grandiosity?
To let one's foolishness shine in order to ridicule one's wisdom?
Or is it this: part from our cause when she celebrates her victory? Climbing high mountains in order to challenge the challenger?
Or is it this: nourish oneself from acorns and grass of the realization and for the sake of truth suffer from hunger in the soul?
Or is it this: being sick and sending the comforters home and making friends with deaf ones who will never hear what you want?
Or is it this: stepping into muddy water when it is the water of the truth and not reject cold frogs and hot toads?
Or is it this: the dear ones who despise us, and who shake hands with the ghost, when it wants to make us fear?
All this heaviest is the load bearing mind willing to bear: like the camel who loaded rushes into the desert, so he rushes into his desert.
But in the loneliest desert happens the second transformation: the mind becomes the lion here, freedom he wants to prey and being master in his own desert.
His last master he is searching for here for himself: enemy he wants to become for him and his last god, for victory he wants to wrestle with the large dragon.
Which is the large dragon, who the mind does not want to call master or god anymore? "You-must" is the large dragon called. But the mind of the lion says: "I want".
"You-must" is laid out for him on the road, golden sparkling, a pangolin, and on each scale sparkles golden "you-must!".
Thousand year old values sparkle on those scales, and so speaks the mightiest of all dragons "all value of anything - it sparkles on me."
"All value had already been created, and all created value - that am I. Indeed, there must not exist 'I want' anymore!" Thus speaks the dragon.
My brothers, what is the need for the lion in the mind? Why is the load bearing animal not enough which is abstinent and fearful of authority?
Creating new values - this can't the lion do yet, either: but creating freedom for oneself in order for new creating - this can the power of the lion do.
Creating freedom for oneself and a holy no even towards the obligation:
for this, my brothers, it requires the lion.
Entitling oneself towards new values - this is the most horrible taking for a load bearing and authority fearing mind. Indeed, a plundering it is for him and the business of a ravishing animal.
As his holiest he loved once the "you-must": now he even must find madness and intention within the holiest yet, that he steals for himself freedom from his love: the lion is required for this theft.
But tell me, my brothers, what can the child yet do, that also the lion was not able to do? Why must the ravishing lion yet even become a child?
Innocence is the child and forgetting, a new beginning, a play, a wheel that rolls out of itself, a first movement, a holy yes-saying.
Yes, to the play of producing, my brothers, it requires a holy yes-saying: _his_will wants now the mind, _his_ world wins for himself the outsider.
Three metamorphoses of the mind I named for you: as the mind became the camel, and the camel became the lion, and the lion eventually became the child. --
So spoke Zarathustra. And at that time he dwelled in the town which is called: the colorful cow.
From the teaching positions of virtue
One praised Zarathustra as being a wise man, who knew well how to talk about sleep and about virtue: much was he honored and rewarded for this, and all young people sat before his teaching seat. To the seat went Zarathustra, and with all young people he sat before his teaching seat. And so spoke the wise man:
Honor and humility for the sleep! This is the first! And avoiding the paths of all who sleep poorly and stay awake at night!
Humble is yet the thief towards the sleep: he always quietly sneaks himself throughout the night. But unhumble is the guard of the night, unhumble he carries his horn.
Not a modest art is sleeping: it yet is coercing to be awake towards it all day long.
Ten times you have to overcome yourself during the day: this makes a good sleepiness and is poppy seed of the soul.
Ten times you have to reconcile again with yourself; because overcoming is bitterness, and badly sleeps the unreconciled.
Ten truths you have to find during the day: otherwise you are still searching for truth at night, and your soul remained hungry.
Ten times you have to laugh during the day and be humorous: otherwise your stomach bothers you at night, this father of sorrow.
Few know this: but one has to have all virtues in order to sleep well. Will I speak wrong testimony? Will I conduct adultery?
Will I let myself lust after my fellow's maiden? This all got along badly with good sleep.
And even if one has all virtues, one has to understand one thing: sending the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time.
That they don't quarrel with one another, the well behaved wifies! And over you, you unfortunate one!
Peace with God and the neighbor: so wants it the good sleep. And peace yet with the neighbor's devil! Otherwise he walks around you at night.
Honor the authority and the obedience, and also the crooked authority! So wants it the good sleep. How is it my fault that the governing power likes to walk on crooked legs?
For me he shall always be called the best shepherd, who leads his sheep onto the greenest meadow: that's how it gets along with the good sleep.
Much great honors I don't want, neither great treasures: that infects the spleen. But one sleeps poorly without a good name and a small treasure.
A small society is more welcome to me than a villainous one: though she must go and come at the right time. That's how it gets along with good sleep.
Much I also like the mentally-poor: they facilitate the sleep. Blissful are those, peculiarly, when one always agrees with them.
That is how the day unfolds for the virtous one. Comes the night now, so I guard myself from calling the sleep! He does not want to be called, the sleep, who is the lord of the virtues!
Rather I think about what I had done and thought during the day. Ruminantly, I ask myself, patiently like a cow: which ones were yet your ten overcomings?
And which ones where the ten reconciliations and the ten truths and the ten laughters, with which my heart agreed?
Such things pondering and weighing off by fourty thoughts, all of the sudden the sleep invades me, the uncalled for, the lord of the virtues.
The sleep knocks onto my eyes: there is becomes heavy. The sleep touches my mouth: there he stays open.
Indeed, on soft shoe soles does he come to me, the favorite of the thiefs, and steals me my thoughts: silly do I stand there like this professor-chair.
But not for long anymore do I stand then: there I lie down already. -
When Zarathustra heard the wise man so speak, he laughed in his heart: because through this he had a light turn on. And thus he spoke to his heart:
A jester is this wise man there to me with his fourty thoughts: but I believe that he surely understands the sleeping.
Fortunate really, who resides in the vicinity of this wise man! Such a sleep is contagious, still through a thick wall he is contagious.
An enchantment even lives in his professor-chair. And not in vain did the young people sit in front of the preacher of virtue.
His wisdom is called: be awake in order to sleep well. And indeed, had the life no sense and was I to choose nonsense, so would this be for me, too, the most desireable nonsense.
Now I understand clearly, what one once searched for most, when one was looking for teachers of virtue. Good sleep one was looking for and in addition to that poppy-flowery virtues!
To all of those praised wise people of the teaching positions was wisdom the sleep without dreams: they did not know a better meaning of life.
Even still today there are no doubt several, like this preacher of virtue, and not always such honest ones: but their time is over. And not for much longer do they stand up yet: there they already lie down.
Blissful are those sleepy ones: because they should doze off soon. -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the backworld persons
Once threw also Zarathustra his mania beyond the human like all backworld persons. Of a suffering and tortured god's work appeared to me there the world.
The world appeared to me there like a dream and poetry of a god; colored smoke in front of the eyes of a godly discontented one.
Good and bad and pleasure and suffering and I and you - colored smoke made me believe that I was in front of creating eyes. Looking away from himself wanted the creator, - there he created the world.
Drunken delight it is to the suffering one, to look away from his suffering and to lose himself. Drunken delight and losing-oneself seemed once the world to be for me.
This world, the eternally uncomplete, image of eternal contradiction and uncompleted image - a drunken delight to her uncompleted creator: - thus the world appeared to me once.
Thus I, too, threw my madness beyond the human once, like all backworld persons. Beyond the human in reality?
Ach, you brothers, this god that I created, was human-work and -madness, like all gods!
He was human, and only a sad piece of human and I: from the own ashes and glow it came to me, this ghost, and indeed! Not came it to me from beyond!
What happened, my brothers? I overcame myself, the suffering one, I carried my own ashes to the mountain, a brighter flame I invented for myself. And look! There _evaporated_ the ghost from me!
Suffering it would be now for me and torture to the healed one, to believe in such ghosts: suffering it would be now for me and humiliation. Thus I talk to the backworld persons.
Suffering it was and disability - which created all backworlds; and such short madness of joy, which only the most suffering one experiences.
Fatigue which wants to go to the last stage in one jump, with one death jump, a sad unknowing fatigue, which does not even want to want anymore: she created all gods and backworlds.
Believe me, my brothers! It was the body who despaired about the body, - he touched the last walls with the fingers of the deluded mind.
Believe me, my brothers! It was the body who despaired about the Earth, - he heard the belly of existence talking to him.
And there he wanted with the head through the last walls, and not only with the head, - across to "that world".
But "that world" is well hidden from the human, that dehumanized inhuman world, which is a heavenly nothing; and the belly of existence does not even talk to the human, unless as human.
Indeed, hard to prove is all existence, and hard to get it to talk. Tell me, you brothers, is not the oddest of all things yet the best proven?
Yes, this I and the I's contradiction and confusion talks yet most honestly of its existence, this productive, wanting, evaluating I, which is the measure and the worth of all things.
And this most honest existence, the I - it talks about the body, and it yet wants the body, even when it composes poetry and adores and flutters with broken wings.
Ever more honestly it learns to talk, the I: and the more it learns, the more it finds words and honors for body and Earth.
A new pride taught me my I, this I teach to the humans: - not any more to plunge the head into the sand of heavenly things, but to carry him freely, an Earth-head, who creates meaning to the Earth!
A new wanting I teach the humans: to want this path, which blindly the human has walked on, and to call him good and to not anymore sneak past him, like the sick and dying ones!
Sick and dying ones where those who despised body and Earth and invented the heavenly and the redeeming drops of blood: but yet even those sweet and dark poisons they took from body and Earth!
They wanted to escape from their misery, and the stars were too far away for them. There they sighed: "Oh, that there were just heavenly paths, to sneak oneself into a different existence and fortune!" - there they invented themselves their secret plans and bloody little drinks!
They now believed to be detached from their bodies and this Earth, those ungrateful ones. Yet who did they thank for their detachment's struggle and joy? Their bodies and this Earth.
Mild is Zarathustra towards the sick ones. Indeed, he does not rage against their methods of comfort and unthankfulness. May they become healed ones and overcoming ones and create themselves a better body!
Not rages Zarathustra also against the healed one, when he tenderly glances after his delusion and at midnight stalks around the grave of his god: but sickness and sick body also remain for me his tears still.
Much sickly folks have always been among those who invent fiction and are god-addicted; angrily they hate the discerning one and that youngest of the virtues, which is called: Honesty.
Backwards they always look after dark times: there of course was delusion and belief something else; illness of reason was godlikeness, and doubt was sin.
All too well do I know those godlike persons: they want to be believed in, and that doubt be sin. All too well do I also know in which they believe best.
Certainly not into backworlds and redeeming drops of blood: but they, too, believe in the body best, and their own body is for them their thing itself.
But a sickly thing it is for them: and they would like to drive out of their skin. Therefore they pay attention to the preachers of death and preach themselves backworlds.
Rather listen, my brothers, to the voice of the healthy body: a more honest and purer voice is this.
More honest and purer talks the healthy body, the wholesome and rectangular one: and he talks from the meaning of the Earth.
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the despisers of the body
To the despisers of the body I want to say my word. Not relearning nor reteaching shall they, but only say farewell to their own bodies - and thus become silent.
"Body am I and soul" - thus speaks the child. And why should one not speak like the children?
But the awakened one, the consciously aware one says: Body am I wholly and really, and nothing else; and soul is only a word for a something on the body.
The body is a great rationality, a multitude with one consciousness, one war and one peace, one herd and one shepherd.
Tool of your body is also your small rationality, my brother, which you call "mind", a small tool and toy of your large rationality.
"I" is what you say and you are proud of this word. But the larger thing is in which you don't want to believe, - your body and it's large rationality: she does not say I, but she acts I.
What the consciousness feels, what the mind recognizes, that has never in itself its end. But consciousness and mind want to persuade you that they were the end of all things: that is how conceited they are.
Tools and toys are consciousness and mind: behind them yet lies the self. The self searches also with the eyes of the senses, it listens also with the ears of the intellect.
Always listens the self and searches: it compares, coerces, conquers, destroys. It rules, and is also the ruler of the I.
Behind your thoughts and feelings, my brother, stands a powerful commander, an unknown wise man - he is called self. In your body he lives, your body he is.
There is more rationality in your body than in your best wisdom. And who knows then what your body particularly needs your best wisdom for?
Your self laughs about your I and its proud jumps. "What mean to me those jumps and flights of the thought?" it says to itself. "A detour to my purpose. I am the leading string of the I and the injector of its concepts."
The self says to the I: "here feel pain!" And there it suffers and contemplates how not to suffer anymore - and for that exactly it _must_ think.
The self says to the I: "here feel pleasure!" There it is happy and contemplates how it can still often be happy - and for that exactly it _must_ think.
To the despisers of the body I want to say a word: that they despise, that gives them respect. What is it that created respect and despise and value and will?
The producing self created itself respecting and despising, it created itself pleasure and grief. The producing body created itself the mind as a hand of its will.
Still in your foolishness and despise, you despisers of the body, you serve your self. I say to you: your self itself wants to die and turns itself away from living.
Not any more can it do this what it wants most dearly: - to produce beyond itself. That it wants most dearly, that is its entire fervency.
But too late was it to him for that now: - thus wants your self to dissolve, you despisers of the body.
Dissolving wants your self, and therefore you became despisers of the body! Because not anymore are you able to produce beyond yourselves.
And therefore you are angry now towards the life and the Earth. A subconscious envy is in the envious glance of your despise.
I don't walk your path, you despisers of the body! You are no bridges towards the superhuman for me! -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the pleasures- and passions
My brother, when you have a virtue, and it is your virtue, then you have her with nobody in common.
Cerlainly, you want to call her by name and caress her; you want to gently pull on her ear and have fun with her.
And see! Now you have her name in common with the folks and have become folk and herd with your virtue!
Better would you do saying: "unspeakable is and nameless, what causes my soul torment and sweetness and also yet is the hunger of my guts."
Your virtue be too noble for the familiarity of those names: and should you speak of her, so don't be ashamed to stutter of her.
Thus speak and stutter: "That is _my_ good, that I love, this way I like it completely, only like this I want the good.
Not do I want it as a god's law, not do I want it as a humans-constitution and -emergency solution: no guidepost be it for me for over-Earths and paradises.
A terrestrial virtue it is which I love: little cleverness is in it and least the reasoning of all people.
But this bird built himself the nest near me: because of this I love and cuddle him, - now he sat near me on his golden eggs.
That is how you should stutter and praise your virtue.
Once you had passions and called them bad. But now you only have your virtues left: they grew out of your passions.
You laid your highest goal on to the heart of those passions: There they became your virtues and creators of happiness.
And whether you were from the breed of those with violent temper, or from those of carnal pleasure seeking, or from those of belief-raging, or from those of revenge seeking:
In the end all of your passions became virtues and all of your devils became angels.
Once you had wild dogs in your cellar: but in the end they transformed into birds and lovely female singers.
From your poisons you brewed yourself your herbal salve; your cow Sorrow you milked, - now you drink the sweet milk of her udder.
And nothing bad grows any further out of you, except the bad that grows out of the struggle of your virtues.
My brother, when you are lucky, so you have One virtue and not more: That's how you walk easier over the bridge.
Excellent it is to have many virtues, but a heavy fortune; and many a person has walked into the desert and killed himself, because he was tired to be battle and battlefield of virtues.
My brother, is war and battle bad? But necessary is this bad, necessary is the envy and the distrust and the defamation among your virtues.
See, how every one of your virtues is covetous for the highest: she wants your whole mind, that he be _her_ harbinger, she wants your whole strength in wrath, hate and love.
Jealous is each virtue of the other, and a horrible thing is jealousy. Even virtues can go down through jealousy.
Whom the flame of jealousy surrounds, he directs at last, equally to the scorpion, against himself the poisonous thorn.
Ach, my brother, have you never seen a virtue defame and stab herself?
The human is something that has to be overcome: and therefore you must love your virtues, - because you will go down through them. -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the pale criminal
You don't want to kill, you judges and sacrificers, before the animal has nodded? See, the pale criminal has nodded: out of his eye talks the great contempt.
"My I is something that must be overcome: my I is to me the great contempt for the human": that's how it talks out of this eye.
That he judged over himself was his highest moment: Let the sublime person not again back into his low state!
There is no relief for him who suffers like that under himself, except for the fast death.
Your killing, you judges, must be a compassion and no penalty. And while you kill make sure that you yourself justify the life!
It is not enough that you reconcile yourself with him who you are executing. Your sadness be love for the superhuman: that's how you justify your still-living!
"Enemy" should you say, but not "evildoer"; "Sick person" should you say, but not "rascal"; "Fool" should you say, but not "sinner".
And you, red judge, if you wanted to say loudly what you already had all done in your thoughts: so would everybody scream: "Do away with this unflattering person and poisonous worm!"
But another is the thought, another the action, another the picture of the action. The wheel of reason does not roll among them.
An image made this pale human pale. All-the-same minded was he towards his action when he did it: but its image he could not stand when it had been done.
Always he saw himself as one deed perpetrator now. Insanity I call this: the exception inverted itself for him into the essence.
The line bans the hen; the prank which he led banned his poor reason - the insanity _after_ the deed I call this.
Listen, you judges! One other insanity still exists: and that one is before the deed. Ach, you did not crawl deep enough into this soul for me!
Thus speaks the red judge: "Why did the criminal murder yet? He wanted to rob." But I tell you: his soul wanted blood, not robbery. He thirsted after the joy of the knife!
But his poor reason did not understand this insanity and persuaded him: "What is good about blood!" she spoke; "don't you want at least do a robbery at the same time? Take a revenge?"
And he listened to his poor reason: like lead laid her speech on him, - there he robbed as he murdered. He did not want to be ashamed for his insanity.
And now again lies the lead of his guilt on him, and again is his poor reason so rigid, so paralyzed, so heavy.
If he could only shake his head, so would his burden roll down: but who shakes this head?
What is this human? A stack of sicknesses, which grab through the mind out into the world: there they want to reap their prey.
What is this human? A bundle of wild snakes, which rarely have peace near one another, - there they walk away for themselves and search for prey in the world.
Look at this poor body! How he suffered and desired, that interpreted this poor soul, - she interpreted it as murderous wanting and greed after the joy of the knife.
Who gets sick now, that one is being invaded by the bad, which is now bad: he wants to hurt with that which hurts him. But there has been different times and a different bad and good.
Once was the doubt bad and the will for the self. At that time became the ill person the heretic and the witch: as heretic and witch he suffered and wanted to cause suffering.
But this does not want into your ears: it would hurt your good, you say to me. But what do I care about your good!
Much of your good causes me disgust, and truly not their bad.
I wished however they had an insanity under which they broke down, equal to this pale criminal!
Indeed, I wished their insanity was called truth or faithfulness or justice: but they have their virtue to live long and in a pitiful complacency.
I am a railing in a stream: grab me, who can grab me! But your crutch I am not. -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From reading and writing
From all written work I love only that, what someone writes with his blood. Write with blood: and you will experience that blood is mind.
It is not easily possible to understand foreign blood: I hate the reading comfortwalkers.
Who knows the reader, he does not do anything anymore for the reader. Yet a hundredyear reader - and the mind itself will stink.
That everybody is allowed to learn how to read, ruins in time not only the writing, but also the thinking.
Once was the mind god, then he became the human and now he even becomes yet the scum.
Who writes in blood and proverbs, he does not want to be read but memorized.
In the mountains is the next path from summit to summit: but for that you must have long legs. Proverbs must be summits: and those, to whom is talked to, be grand and tall grown.
The air thin and clear, the danger near and the mind full of a happy meanness: that way it fits good together.
I want to have hobgoblins around me, because I am courageous. Courage, which repels the ghosts, creates its own hobgoblins, - the courage wants to laugh.
I don't empathize anymore with you: this cloud which I see underneath me, this blackness and heaviness, about which I laugh, - just this is your thundercloud.
You look above, when you wish for elevation. And I look down, because I am elevated.
Who of you can at the same time laugh and be elevated?
Who climbs on the highest mountains, he laughs about all sad games and sad earnestness.
Courageous, carefree, sarcastic, brutal - that is how the wisdom wants us: she is a wifie and always loves only a war monger.
You tell me: "the life is hard to bear." But for what did you have before noon your pride and in the evening your surrender?
The life is hard to bear: but don't pretend to me yet so tenderly! We are all pretty loadbearing male and female donkeys.
What do we have in common with the rose bud, which jitters, because a drop of dew lies on her body?
It is true: we love the life, not, because we are used to the life, but because we are used to the loving.
It is always a bit insanity in the love. But it is also always a bit reason in insanity.
And also for me, who is good towards life, appear butterflies and soap bubbles and whatever of its kind is among humans, to know most about happiness.
To see those light, foolish, petite, agile little souls flattering - that seduces Zarathustra to tears and songs.
I would only believe in a god who knew how to dance.
And when I saw my devil, there I found him serious, through, deep, ceremonial: it was the mind of heaviness, - through him fall all things.
Not through wrath, but through laughing one kills. Up, let us kill the mind of heaviness!
I have learned how to walk: since then I let myself run. I have learned how to fly: since then I don't want to first be shoved in order to move ahead.
Now I am light, now I fly, now I see myself underneath me, now a god dances through me.
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the tree at the mountain
Zarathustra's eye had seen that a juvenile avoided him. And when he walked one evening alone through the mountains which surround the town called "the colorful cow": see, there he found the juvenile while walking, as he sat leaning against a tree and with a tired glance looked into the valley. Zarathustra touched the tree at which the juvenile was sitting, and spoke thus:
If I wanted to shake this tree there with my hands, I would not be able to.
But the wind which we don't see, he torments and bends him whereever he wants. We are being bend and tormented the worst by invisible hands.
There the juvenile got up shocked and said: "I hear Zarathustra and I just thought about him." Zarathustra replied:
"Why do you get startled because of that? - But it is the with the human the same as with the tree.
The more he wants upward into the hight and brightness, the stronger strive his roots earthwards, down, into the dark, the deep, - into the bad."
"Yes, into the bad!" shouted the juvenile. "How is it possible that you discovered my soul?"
Zarathustra smiled and spoke: "Some soul will one never discover, unless one invents it first." "Yes, into the bad!" shouted the juvenile again.
"You said the truth, Zarathustra. I don't trust myself anymore since I want into the hight, and nobody trusts me anymore, - how does this happen though?
I metamorphize myself too fast: my today refutes my yesterday. I often skip the steps when I am climbing, - no step forgives me for this.
When I am at the top, so I find myself always alone. Nobody talks to me, the frost of loneliness makes me shiver. What do I want yet at the high altitude?
My despise and my yearning grow with one another; the higher I climb the more I despise him who climbs. What does he yet want in the high altitude?
How am I embarressed about my climbing and stumbling! How I mock my vigorous snorting! How I hate the flying one! How tired am I in the high altitude!"
Here was the juvenile quiet. And Zarathustra viewed the tree on which they stood, and thus spoke:
"This tree stands lonely here at the mountains; he grew high above over human and animal.
And if he wanted to talk he would have nobody who understood him: so high he grew.
Now he is waiting and waiting, - what is he yet waiting for? He lives too close to the seat of the clouds: he is probably waiting for the first lightening?"
When Zarathustra had said this, the juvenile shouted with vehement gestures: "Yes, Zarathustra, you say the truth. I wished for my demise when I wanted into the high altitude, and you are the lightening, for which I waited! Look, what am I yet since you have appeared to us? The _envy_ of you it is that has destroyed me!" - Thus spoke the juvenile and wept bitterly. But Zarathustra laid his arm around him and escorted him away.
And when they had walked for a while together, began Zarathustra hence to speak:
"It tears my heart. Better than your words say it, tells me your eye all of your danger.
Still you are not free, you _search_ still for freedom. Lacking sleep made you your searching and hyper awake.
Into the free hight you want, after stars thirsts your soul. But also your bad urges are thirsting after freedom.
Your wild dogs want into the freedom; they bark out of desire in their cellar, when your mind intends to solve all prisons.
Still you are to me a prisoner who devises freedom for himself: Ach, smart becomes the mind of such prisoners, but also fraudulent and miserable.
Purifying must yet the freed one of the mind. Much prison and mold is still remaining in him: Pure must yet become his eye.
Yes, I know your danger. But with my love and hope I persuade you: Don't throw away your love and hope!
Nobel you feel yet, and nobel perceive you the others yet, who are upset with you and who send you angry glances. Know that for all a noble perons stands in the way.
Even to the good persons a noble person stands in the way: And even if they call him a good person, so with that they want to get him out of the way.
Something new wants the noble person create and a new virtue. Old things wants the good person, and that old things remained conserved.
But not that is the danger of the noble person that he became a good person, but a barefaced one, a mocking one, an annihilator.
Ach, I knew noble persons who lost their highest hope. And now they calumniated all high hopes.
Now they lived sassy in short lusts, and throughout the day they stacked up hardly any more goals.
"Mind is also voluptuousness" - so they said. There the wings of their mind broke: Now he crawls around and stains while gnawing.
Once they believed to become heroes: Pleasure seekers are they now. A sorrow and a horror is to them the hero.
But with my love and hope I persuade you: Don't throw the hero in your soul away! Hold devoutly your highest hope!" -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the Preachers of death
There are preachers of death: And the Earth is full of such to which renouncement from life must be preached.
Full is the Earth of excessive persons, spoiled is the life through the much-to-many. May one lure oneself away from this life through the "eternal life"!
"Yellow ones": That is how one calls the preachers of death, or "black ones". But I want to show them to you in yet other colors.
There are the terrible which carry in themselves the predator, and they have no choice but be it then lusts or self-butchering. And also their lusts are yet self-butchering.
They have yet not even become humans, those terrible: May they preach renouncement from life and themselves pass away!
There are the consumptive of the soul: Barely have they been born so they begin to die and yearn for the teachings of fatigue and renunciation.
They want to gladly be dead, and we should grant their wish! May we beware not to wake up those dead ones and not to damage those living coffins!
They encounter a sick person or an elderly person or a corpse; and right away they say "the life is refuted!"
But only they are refuted and their eye which only sees the one face of existence.
Wrapped into thick melancholy and desirous for the small coincidences which bring the death: That is how they wait and grit their teeth.
Or still: They reach after sugarmaterial and at the same time mock their childplay: They cling to their straw life and mock that they still cling to a straw.
Their wisdom is: "A fool who stays alive, but so much are we fools! And that precisely is the most foolish about life!" -
"The life is only suffering" - thus say others and they don't lie: So make sure that _you_ stop! So make sure that the life ends which only is suffering!
And thus says the teaching of your virtue "you shall kill yourself! You shall sneak away!" -
"Pleasure seeking is sin, - thus say some persons who preach the death - let us pass away and create no children!"
"Giving birth is burdensome, - say the others - what for yet giving birth? One only gives birth to unhappy ones!" And they, too, are preachers of death.
"Compassion hurts" - so say the third. "Take what I have! Take what I am. The less binds me the life!"
Were they compassionate persons by nature, so would they make their fellows' lives miserable. Being bad - that would be their right goodness.
But they want to tear loose from life: What do they care that they bind others yet tighter with their chains and gifts! -
And also you, to whom the life is wild work and restlessness: Aren't you very tired of the life? Aren't you very ready for the preaching of the death?
You all, who like the wild work, and the fast, new and foreign, - you bear yourself badly, your diligence is escape and will to forget yourself.
If you believed more in life, would you give yourself less to the moment. But you have not enough meaning in yourself in order to wait - and not even for laziness!
Everywhere sounds the voice of those who preach the death: and the Earth is full of those to whom the death must be be preached.
Or the "eternal life": That is the same for me, - where ever they only drive away quickly!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From war and war folks
From our best enemies we don't want to be spared, and also not from those who we love from the bottom of our hearts. Thus let me then tell you the truth!
My brothers in war! I love you from the bottom of my heart, I am and was your equal. And I am also your best enemy. Thus let me then tell you the truth!
I know about the hate and envy of your heart. You are not mentally large enough in order not to know hate and envy. So be then mentally large enough not to be ashamed of this!
And when you can't be saints of awareness, so be at least its warriors. Those are the companions and predecessors of such sainthood.
I see many soldiers: I would like to see many warriors! "One-form" they call it, what they wear: May it not be one-form which they hide behind it!
You shall be those to me whose eye always searches for the enemy - for _your_ enemy. And with some of you there is hate on the first glance.
You should search for your enemy, you should lead your war, and for your thoughts! And when your thought is subdued, so may your honesty yet declare triumph over it!
You shall love the peace as a means to new wars. And the short peace more than the long one.
I don't recommend work for you, but battle. I don't recommend peace to you, but victory. Your work be a battle, your peace be a victory!
One can only be silent and sit still when one has arrow and bow: Otherwise one blabs and quarrels. Your peace be a victory!
You say it be the good cause which even sanctified the war? I tell you: The good war it is which sanctifies each cause.
The war and the courage have done more large things than the love for fellows. Not your cosuffering but your braveness rescued so far the disadvantaged ones.
What is good?, you ask. Being brave is good. Let the little girls talk: "Being good is what is pretty and touching at the same time."
One calls you heartless: But your heart is genuine, and I love the shyness of your warmth. You are embarressed of your flood, and others are embarressed of their ebb.
You are ugly? Well then now, my brothers! So take the grandiose around you, the coat of ugliness!
And when you soul becomes large, so she becomes exuberant, and in your grandiosity is meanness. I know you.
In the meanness meets the exuberant one with the weakling. But they misunderstand each other. I know you.
You only should have enemies which are to hate, but not enemies to despise. You should be proud of your enemy: Then are the successes of your enemies also your successes.
Rebellion - that is the nobleness of the slave. Your nobleness be obedience! Your commanding itself be an obedience!
To a good soldier sounds "you shall" more pleasant than "I want". And everything that you value you should at first yet allow it to be dictated to you.
Your love for life be love for your highest hope: And your highest hope be the highest thought of life!
But your highest thougth you should allow to be dictated to you by me - and he is called: The human is something that shall be overcome.
Thus live your life of obedience and war! What matters the longevity! Which warrior wants to be spared!
I don't protect you, I love you from the bottom of my heart, my brothers in war! -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the new idol
Somewhere there still exists nations and herds, but not with us, my brothers: There exist states.
State, what is that? Well then! Now open the ears for me, because now I tell you my word about the death of the nations.
State it is called, the coldest of all cold monsters. Cold it also lies; and this lie creeps out of his mouth: "I, the state, am the folk."
It's a lie! Producing persons were they who created the nations and who hung a belief and a love above them: Thus they served the life.
Destroyers are those, they set traps for many and call them state: They hang a sword and a hundred desires above them.
Where there still exists folk, there it does not understand the state and hates him as a mean glance and sin towards traditions and rights.
This sign I give you: Each folk speaks its tounge of good and bad: Those the neighbor does not understand. Its language it invented itself through traditions and rights.
But the state lies in all tounges of good and bad; and whatever he says, he lies - and whatever he owns, he has stolen it.
Fake is everything about him; with stolen teeth he bites, the biting individual. Fake are even his guts.
Lanuage confusion of good and bad: This sign I give you as the sign of the state. Indeed, the wish for death this sign is suggesting! Indeed, it waves to the preachers of death!
Way to many are being born: For the excessive ones was the state invented!
Watch how he lures them to him, the way-to-many! How he devours them and chews and regurgitates!
"On the Earth is nothing greater than me: The straightening finger am I of God" - thus yells the monster. And not only long eared and short eyed sink onto their knees!
Ach, also in you, you grand souls, he murmurs his dark lies! Ach, he deciphers the rich hearts who love to squander themselves!
Yes, also you he deciphers, you victorious ones over the old god! Tired you became during the struggle, and now your tiredness serves yet the new idol!
Heroes and persons of honor he wants to establish around him, the new idol! He likes to sunbathe in the sunshine of good consciences, - the cold monster!
Everything he wants to give to _you_ when _you_ worship him, the new idol: Thus he buys for himself the glory of your virtue and the glance of your proud eyes.
Together with you he wants to catch the much-too-many with a bait! Yes, a hell-artwork was there invented, a horse of death, rattling in the harness of godly honors!
Yes, a dying of many was there invented which praises itself as life: Indeed, a heart-service for all preachers of death!
State I call it where all poison drinkers are, good and bad ones: State, where all lose themselves, good and bad ones: State, where the slow suicide of all is called - "the life".
Look at those excessive persons though! They steal for themselves the works of inventors and the treasures of the wise: Education they call their theft - and everything becomes for them illness and affliction!
Look at those excessive persons though! They are always sick, they vomit out their gall fluids and call it news paper. They devour one another and can not even digest themselves.
Look at those excessive persons though! Wealth they acquire and become poorer with it. Power they want and first the crowbar of power, much money, - those impecunious persons!
Look at them climbing, those swift apes! They climb above one another and drag themselves like that into the mud and into the abyss.
Towards the throne they all want: Their insanity it is, - as if the happiness sat on the throne! Often sits the mud on the throne - and often also sits the throne on the mud.
Insane persons are they all to me and climbing apes and overheated ones. Bad smells their idol to me, the cold monster: Bad they smell to me all together, those idol servants.
My brothers, do you want then to suffocate in the fumes of their mouths and lusts! Rather break yet the windows and jump into free space!
Avoid the path of the bad smell after all! Walk away from the idol serving of the excessive persons!
Avoid the path of the bad smell after all! Walk away from the steam of those human sacrifices!
Free stands also even now the Earth for grand souls. Empty are still many seats for lonely ones and couples, around which the smell of quiet oceans blows.
Free stands still a free life to grand souls. Indeed, who owns little, becomes the less obsessed: Praised be the small poverty!
There, where the state ends only begins the human who is not excessive: There begins the song of the necessary, the unique and irreplaceable way.
There, where the state _ends_, - so look at it though, my brothers! Don't you see him, the rainbow and the bridges of the superhuman? -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the flies of the market place
Flee, my friend, into your solitude! I see you numb from the loud noise of the large men and bitten from the needles of the small men.
Dignified know forest and rock to be silent with you. The same again with the tree who you love, the wide branched: Sill and consciously observing he hangs over the ocean.
Where the solitude ends there begins the market place; and where the market place begins there also begins the noise of the large actors and the buzzing of the poisonous flies.
In the world are the best things still useful for nothing, without someone, who first represents them: Great men calls the folk those representers.
Little understands the folk the grand, which is: The creating. But senses it has for all representers and actors of large things.
Around the inventors of new values circles the world: - Invisible she circles herself. But around the actors circles the folk and the fame: Such it is the world's course.
Intellect has the actor, though little conscience of the mind. He believes always in that with which he induces belief the strongest, - induces belief into _him_!
Tomorrow he has a new belief and the day after tomorrow a newer one. Quick senses he has equal to the folk, and changeable weather conditions.
Throwing down - that means to him: Proving. Making magic - that means to him: Convincing. And blood is the best of all reasons to him.
A truth which slips only into fine ears he calls lie and nothing. Indeed, he only believes in gods which produce large noise in the world!
Full of ceremonial clowns is the market place - and the folk boasts itself of its great men! Those are to him the men of the hour.
But the hour forces them: Thus they force you. And also from you they want yes or no. Beware you want to set your chair between pro and contra?
Regarding these absolute persons and pushing persons be without envy, you lover of truth! Never yet hung the truth itself onto the arm of the absolute person.
Because of those quick pushing persons go back into your safety: Only on the market place will one be attacked with yes? or no?.
Slow is the experience of all deep wells: Long must they wait until they know _what_ fell into their depth.
Beyond the market place and the fame is taking place all grandness: Beyond the market place and the fame lived always the inventors of new values.
Flee, my friend, into your solitude: I see you bitten by poisonous flies. Flee there where rough, strong air is blowing!
Flee into your solitude! You lived to close to the narrow minded and pathetic persons. Flee from their invisible revenge! Against you they are nothing but revenge.
Don't lift your arm against them any more! Uncountable are they, and it is not your fate to be fly waver.
Uncountable are those narrow minded and pathetic persons; And even rain drops and weeds caused many of grand buildings the demise.
You are not a rock, but already you became hollow from many drops. You would yet brake and burst from many drops.
Tired through poisonous flies, I see you, scratched bleeding, I see you in a hundred places; And your pride wants to not even rage.
Blood they want from you in all innocence, blood desire their blood empty souls - and they bite because of that in all innocence.
But, you deep person, you suffer too deeply even from small wounds; And before you have even healed yourself, crawled the same poisonous worm over your hand.
Too proud are you to kill those greedy persons. But beware that it will not become your demise to carry all of their poisonous injustice!
They hum around you also with their praise: Intrusiveness is their praise. They want the closeness of your skin and of your blood.
They flatter you like a god or devil; They whimper before you like before a god or devil. What is the use! Flatterers they are and whimperers and not more.
Also they often act towards you as kind persons. But that was always the cleverness of the cowardly. Yes, the cowardly are clever!
They think much about you with their narrow soul, - disturbing are you to them evermore! Everything that is being pondered about becomes disturbing.
They punish you for all of your virtues. They forgive you basically only - your mistakes.
Because you are mellow and of fair mind, you say: "Innocent are they regarding their narrow existence." But their narrow soul thinks: "At fault is all grand existence."
Even when you are mild to them they still feel despised by you; And they repay your kind actions with hidden hurtful actions.
Your wordless pride goes always against their taste; They rejoyce when you someday are modest enough to be vain.
That which we recognize about a person, that we also incinerate about him. Thus beware of the narrow minded persons!
Before you they feel small, and their lowness glows and burns against you in invisible revenge.
Didn't you notice how often they became silent when you stepped up to them, and how their strength receded from them like the smoke from a receding fire?
Yes, my friend, the bad conscience are you to your fellows: Because they are not worthy of you. Thus they hate you and would like to draw your blood.
Your fellows will always be poisonous flies; That which is grand about you, - that itself must make them more poisonous and more flylike.
Flee, my friend, into your solitude and there where a rough, strong air is blowing. Not is it your fate to be fly waver. -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the chastity
I love the forest. In the cities it is hard to live: There are too many of the rutting persons.
Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer than into the dreams of a rutting woman?
And look at those men: Their eye says it - they know nothing better on Earth than to rest with a woman.
Mud is on the ground of their soul; And beware if their mud yet has intellect!
That you yet at least as animals were completed! But to the animal belongs the innocence.
Do I advise you to kill your senses? I advise you to innocense of your senses.
Do I advise you to chastity? The chastity is with many a virtue, but with many almost a vice.
Those are abstinent indeed: But the female dog sensuality glances with envy out of everything which they do.
Yet into the heights of their virtue and up into the cold mind follows them this presence and its troubled mind.
And how well behaved knows the female dog sensuality to beg for a piece of intellect, when she is being denied a piece of meat!
You love drama and all what breaks the heart? But I am suspicious of your female dog.
You have too cruel eyes and glance lustfully after suffering persons. Has not just your pleasure seeking disguised itself and calls itself compassion?
And also this parable I give to you: Not a few who tried to drive out their devil drove in the process themselves into the dirt.
To whom the chastity does not come easily, to him it is to be dissuaded: That it is not the path to hell - that means to mud and rut of the soul.
Do I talk of dirty things? That is not the worst to me.
Not when the truth is dirty, but when it is shallow steps the recognizing person reluctantly into it's water.
Indeed, there are basic chaste persons: They are milder in their heart, they rather laugh and more plentifully than you.
They also laugh about the chastity and ask: "What is chastity!
Is chastity not foolishness? But this foolishness came to us and not us to her.
We offered this guest accommodation and heart: Now he lives with us, - may he stay as long as he wants to!"
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the friend
"One is always too much around me" - thus thinks the recluse. "Always one time one - that makes in the long term two!"
I and myself are always too eager in conversation: How would it be bearable if there was not a friend?
Always is for the recluse the friend the third: The third is the cork which prevents that the conversation of the two sinks into the depth.
Ach, there are too many depths for all recluses. That's why they long so much for a friend and for his height.
Our belief in others reveals in which we like to believe about ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our traitor.
And often wants one with the love only skip the envy. And often one attacks and makes oneself an enemy in order to conceal that one is vulnerable.
"Be at least my enemy!" - thus speaks the true reverence which does not dare to ask for friendship.
Wants one have a friend so must one also want to go to war for him: And in order to go to war one must be _able_ to be an enemy.
One should in his friend yet honor the enemy. Can you step close up to your friend without converting over to him?
In one's friend should one have his best enemy. You should be closest to him with the heart when you withstandest towards him.
You don't want to wear clothing before your friend? It should be the honor to your friend that you show yourself to him as you are? But wishes you therefore to the devil!
Who does not make a glory out of himself, outrages others: So much do you have reason to fear the nakedness! Yes, if you were gods, there you were allowed to be ashamed of your clothes!
You can not dress up beautiful enough for your friend: Because you shall be an arrow for him and a desire for the superhuman.
Have you seen your friend yet sleeping, - so that you find out how he looks? What is yet otherwise the face of your friend? It is your own face on a rough and uncompleted mirror.
Have you seen your friend yet sleeping? Did you not get startled that your friend looks like that? Oh, my friend, the human is something that shall be overcome.
In guessing and being silent shall the friend be master: Not everything should you want to see. Your dream should disclose to you what your friend does while awake.
A guessing be your compassion: That you first knew whether your friend wanted to share your compassion. Maybe he loves in you the unbroken eye and the glance towards the eternity.
The compassion towards a friend be concealed under a hard shell, on him you shall brake off your tooth. This is how it will have its refinement and sweetness.
Are you pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to your friend? Some person can't dissolve his own chains and yet he is a rescuer to the friend.
Are you a slave? Thus you can't be a friend. Are you a tyrant? Thus you can't have friends.
All to long was in the woman hidden a tyrant and a slave. Therefore is the woman not capable of friendship yet: She only knows the love.
In the love of the woman is injustice and blindness against everything which she does not love. And also in the knowing love of the woman is still assault and lightening and night besides the light.
Still is the woman not capable of friendship: Cats are still the women, and birds. Or in the best case, cows.
Still is the woman not capable of friendship: But tell me, you men, who of you is then capable of friendship?
Oh, over your poverty, you men, and your stinginess of your soul! How much you give to the friend, that I yet want to give to my enemy, and I will also not have become poorer through this.
There is fellowship: May there be friendship!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From a thousand and one goal
Many countries saw Zarathustra and many folks: That is how he discovered the good and the bad of many populations. No higher power did Zarathustra find on Earth than good and bad.
No folk could live which not first evaluated; but did it want to sustain itself, so it must not value as the neighbor values.
Much which meant good to this folk, meant mockery and disgrace to another: That is how I found it. Much did I find here called bad and over there decorated with purple honors.
Never understood a neighbor the other: Always wondered his soul about his neighbor's delusion and malevolence.
A table of values hangs over each folk. Look, it is the table of their overcomings; look, it is the voice of their wanting to obtain power.
To praise is what appears difficult to them; what is imperative and burdensome is called good, and what frees yet from the highest distress, the rare, the difficult, - that it praises holy.
What it does there that it rules and wins and shines, to their neighbors to dread and envy: That means to them the high, the first, the competitive, the meaning of all things.
Indeed, my brother, did you recognize first the distress of a folk and land and sky and neighbor: That is how you probably guess the law of their overcomings and why they climb on this ladder to their hope.
"Always shall you be the first and exceed the others: Your jealous soul should love nobody except the friend" - this made the soul of a Greek person shiver: With this he was walking his path of grandness.
"Talking the truth and knowing well how to handle bow and arrow" - thus it felt lovely and heavy at the same time to this folk from which my name comes - the name which feels lovely and heavy at the same time to me.
"Honoring father and mother and serving their will until deep into the root of the soul": This table of overcomings hung another folk up over themselves and became powerful and eternal with it.
"Practicing loyalty and for the sake of loyalty attaching honor and blood also to bad and dangerous things": Thus teaching itself forced another folk itself, and thus forcing itself it became pregnant and heavy with grand hopes.
Indeed, the humans gave themselves all of their good and bad. Indeed, they did not take it, they did not find it, it did not fall to them as a voice from the sky.
Only the human laid values into the things, to sustain himself, - he created first the meaning of the things, a human-meaning! That is why he calls himself "human", that is: The evaluating one.
Evaluating is creating: Hear this, you creating ones! Creating itself is treasure and gem to all evaluated things.
Through the evaluating only it gives value: And without the evaluating would the nut of existence be hollow. Hear this, you creating ones!
Shift of values, - that is shift of the creating ones. He who must be a creator always destroys.
Creating ones were first folks and only late they were individuals; indeed, the individual one himself is yet the youngest creation.
Folks hung once a table of the good above themselves. Love which wants to rule, and love which wants to obey created together such tables.
Older is the lust in the herd, as the lust about I: And as long as the good conscience is called herd, says only the bad conscience: I.
Indeed, the smart I, the loveless, which wants his benefit through the using of many: This is not the origin of the herd, but its demise.
Loving ones were it always, and creating ones, they created good and bad. Fire of the love glows in all names of virtues and fire of wrath.
Many countries saw Zarathustra and many folks: No larger power found Zarathustra on Earth than the works of the loving ones: "Good" and "bad" is their name.
Indeed, a monster is the power of this praising and finding fault. Tell me, who subjugates it, my brothers? Tell me, who throws the shackle over the thousand necks of this animal?
A thousand goals there have been so far, because a thousand folks there have been. Only the shackle of the thousand necks is still missing, the one goal is missing. Still has humanity no goal.
But tell me my brothers after all: When for humanity the goal is still missing, are there not also missing - they themselves yet? -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the love for the fellows
You crowd around the fellow and have beautiful values for this. But I tell you: Your love for the fellows is your poor love for yourselves.
You flee to the fellow from yourselves and you would like to make a virtue out of this: But I see through your "selfless".
The You is older than the I; The You has been declared holy, but not yet the I: Thus urges the human himself towards the fellow.
Do I advise you the love for the fellows? Rather do I advise you the flight from the fellows and the love for the most remote!
Higher than the love for the fellows is the love for the most remote and the future; Higher yet than the love for humans is the love for things and ghosts.
This ghost, which runs ahead of you, my brother, is more beautiful than you are; Why don't you give him your flesh and your bones? But you are afraid and you run to your fellow.
You can not stand being with yourselves and you do not love yourselves enough: Now you want to seduce your fellow to the love and to paint yourselves golden with his error.
I wished you did not stand it with all kinds of fellows and their neighbors; Thus you might want to make out of yourselves your friend and his overflowing heart.
You invite for yourself a witness when you wanted to talk kindly about yourself; And when you have seduced him to think good about you then you think good about yourselves.
Not only he lies who talks contrary to his knowledge, but particularly he who talks contrary to his non-knowledge. And thus you talk about yourselves in communication with others and you lie to your neighbor that way.
Thus speaks the fool: "The association with humans ruins the character, particularly when one has none."
The one goes to the next because he is searching for himself, and the other because he wants to lose himself. Your bad love for yourselves makes out of the solitude a prison for yourselves.
The more remote persons are those who fund your love for the fellows; And already when you are together as five persons must always a sixth person die.
I also do not love your celebrations: Too many actors I found there and also the audience behaved themselves often as actors.
Not the fellow do I teach you, but the friend. The friend be to you the celebration of the Earth and an anticipation towards the superhuman.
I teach you the friend and his abundant heart. But one must know how to be a sponge when one wants to be loved by abundant hearts.
I teach you the friend in who the world stands completed, a bowl of goodness, - the creating friend who always has a completed world to give away.
And as him rolled the world apart so rolls it to him again together in circles, as the becoming of the good through the bad, as the becoming of the purposes through the chance.
The future and the most remote be to you the reason of your today: In your friend should you love the superhuman as your reason.
My brothers, to the love of your next fellows I do not advise you: I advise you to your most remote person love.
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the path of the creating person
Do you want, my brother, to go into the isolation? Do you want to search for the path to yourself? Hesitate yet a little longer and hear me.
"He who searches gets easily lost for himself. All isolation is to blame": Thus speaks the herd. And you belonged long to the herd.
The voice of the herd will also still sound in you. And when you will say "I don't have a consensus with you any more", so will it be a complaint and a pain.
See, this pain itself was born by the one consensus: And this consensus' last shimmer glows still on your sorrow.
But you want to walk the path of your sorrow which is the path to yourself? Thus show me your entitlement and your strength for this!
Are you a new strength and a new right? A first movement? An out of itself rolling wheel? Can you also force stars that they rotate around you?
Ach, there is so much lecherousness for hight! There are so many struggles of the ambitious! Show me that you are not one of the lecherous and ambitious!
Ach, there are so many grand thoughts, they don't do much more than a blower: They blow up and make more empty.
Free you call yourself? Your ruling thought I want to hear and not that you have escaped from a yoke.
Are you such a person who was _allowed_ to escape from a yoke? There often is a person who threw away his last value when he threw away his service ability.
Free from what? What does Zarathustra care! Bright however shall me your eye announce: Free _for what_?
Can you give yourself your bad and your good and hang your will above yourself like a law? Can you be judge to yourself and avenger of your law?
Horrible is the aloneness with the judge and avenger of the own law. Thus will a star be thrown out into the barren space and into the icy breath of the aloneness.
Today yet you suffer from the many, you one: Today yet you have your courage whole and your hopes.
But some day will the loneliness make you tired, some day will your pride bend itself and your courage crunch. Some day you will scream "I am alone!"
Some day you will not see your high any more and your low all to close; Your sublimity itself will make you afraid like a ghost. Some day you will scream: "All is wrong!"
There are feelings which want to kill the recluse; Did they not succeed with it, well, so must they themselves die! But are you capable to be a murderer?
Do you really know, my brother, the word "contempt"? And the torment of your justice, to be fair to those who despise you?
You force many to relearn through you; This they calculate harshly against you. You came close to them and yet passed by them: This they never forgive you for.
You walk past and beyond them: But the higher you climb the smaller views you the eye of the envy. Most of all though is the flying person hated.
"How did you want to be fair towards me! - should you speak - I choose your injustice as the part that serves me right."
Injustice and dirt they throw towards the recluse: But, my brother, if you want to be a star, so should you therefore not glow less to them!
And beware of the good and just! They like to crucify those who invent their own virtue, - they hate the recluse.
Beware also of the holy simple-mindedness! Everything is unholy to her which is not simple-minded; She also likes to play with fire - the funeral bonfire.
And also beware of the attacks of your love! Too fast reaches the lonely person the hand out towards the one who meets him.
To some human you should not give your hand, but only the paw: And I want that your paw also has claws.
But the worst enemy who you can meet will always be yourself; You are stalking yourself in caves and forests.
Recluse, you walk the path to yourself! And past yourself leads the path and past your seven devils!
Heretic will you be to yourself and witch and fortune-teller and jester and skeptic and unholy person and villain.
You must want to burn in your own flame: How did you want to become new if you had not first become ashes!
Recluse, you walk the path of the creating one: A god you want to create out of your seven devils!
Recluse, you walk the path of the loving one: You love yourself and therefore you despise yourself, like only loving ones despise.
Creating wants the loving one, because he despises! What does he know of love, who did not just have to despise which he loved!
With your love walk into your solitude and with your creating, my brother; And late only will the justice limp behind you.
With my tears walk into your solitude, my brother. I love him who wants to create past himself and who breaks down through this. -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From old and young women
"What are you sneaking so cautiously through the dusk, Zarathustra? And what are you concealing so carefully under your coat?
Is it a treasure which was given to you? Or a child who was born to you? Or do you now walk on the paths of the thiefs yourself, you friend of the bad ones?" -
Indeed, my brother! Spoke Zarathustra, it is a treasure which was given to me: A little truth it is which I carry.
But she is unruly like a young child; And when I don't hold her mouth closed, then she screams overly loud.
When I walked alone along my path today at the hour when the sun sinks down, I met an old woman and she talked thus to my soul:
"Much talked Zarathustra also to us women, yet never did he talk to us about the woman."
And I countered to her: "About the woman should one only talk to men."
"Talk also to me about the woman", she said; I am old enough to forget it again right away."
And I granted the request of the old woman and spoke thus to her:
All about the woman is an enigma, and all about the woman has a solution: It is called pregnancy.
The man is for the woman a means: The purpose is always the child. But what is the woman for the man?
Twofold wants the real man: Danger and play. Therefore he wants the woman as the most dangerous toy.
The man shall be raised for war and the woman for the recovery of the warrior: Everything else is foolishness.
All to sweet fruits - those the warrior does not like. Therefore he likes the woman; Bitter is also yet the sweetest woman.
Better than a man understands the woman the children, but the man is more childish than the woman.
In the real man is a child hidden: That wants to play. Go ahead, you women, so discover after all the child in the man!
A toy be the woman, clean and delicate, equal to the gem, radiated by the virtues of a world which is not there yet.
The beam of a star sparkle in your love! Your hope is called: "May I give birth to the Superhuman!"
In your love be courage! With your love you should approach him who instills fear in you!
In your love be your honor! Little knows the woman otherwise about honor. But this be your honor, always to love more than you are loved, and never to be the second.
The man may be afraid of the woman when she loves: There she delivers every sacrifice, and every other thing holds no worth to her.
The man may be afraid of the woman when she hates: Because the man is in the depth of his soul only evil, but the woman is there bad.
Who does the woman hate the most? - Thus spoke the iron to the magnet: "I hate you the most because you attract, but you are not strong enough to draw to you."
The happiness of the man is called: I want. The happiness of the woman is called: He wants.
"Look, just was the world complete!" - thus thinks every woman when she obeys out of entire love.
And obey must the woman and find a depth into her shallowness. Shallowness is the woman's mindset, a flexible stormy skin on a shallow water.
The man's mindset however is deep, his stream rustles in underground caves: The woman suspects his strength but does not understand it. -
There countered the old woman to me: "Much correct said Zarathustra and particularly to those who are young enough for it.
Strange it is that Zarathustra knows little the woman and yet he is right about them! Does this happen because there is nothing impossible with the woman?
And now take as a thank you a little truth! Am I old enough for her though!
Wrap her up and bind her mouth closed: Otherwise she screams overly loud, this little truth."
"Give me, woman, your little truth!" I said. And thus spoke the old woman:
"You go to the women? Don't forget the whip!" -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the bite of the snake
One day Zarathustra had fallen asleep under a fig tree because it was hot and he had laid his hands over his face. There came a snake and bit him into his neck so that Zarathustra screamed out of pain. When he had moved his arm away from his face he looked at the snake: There she recognized the eyes of Zarathustra, moved awdwardly and wanted to turn away. "Don't", spoke Zarathustra; "Yet you have not taken my thanks! You woke me in time, my path is still long." "Your path is still short", said the snake sadly; "My poison kills." Zarathustra smiled. "When did ever a dragon die from the poison of a snake?" - he said. But take your poison back! You are not rich enough to give it to me." There fell him the snake once again around his neck and licked him his wound.
When Zarathustra told this once to his disciples they asked: "And what, oh, Zarathustra, is the moral of your story?" Zarathustra answered thus thereupon:
The good and just persons call me the annihilator of the moral: My story is immoral. -
But when you have an enemy thus, so don't repay him bad with good: Because that would humiliate. But proove that he has done something good to you.
And rather make wrathful than humiliate! And when you are being cursed at I don't like it when you then want to make it into something good. Rather a bit cursing along!
And happened a great injustice to you so add quickly five small ones to that! Horrible is he to look at who is the only one subjected by injustice.
Did you know this yet? Divided injustice is half justice. And he shall take upon him the injustice who can carry it!
A small revenge is more humane than no revenge at all. And when the punishment is not also a right and an honor for the transgressor, so I don't like your penalizing.
More noble it is to give yourself injustice than insisting on being right especially when one is right. One just has to be rich enough for this.
I don't like your cold justice; And from the eye of your judges always glances the executioner and his cold iron.
Tell, where is the justice to be found, which is love with seeing eyes?
So invent yet the love which not only carries all punishment but also all guilt!
So invent yet the justice which releases everybody from guilt except the judging persons!
Do you want to also hear this yet? In him who wants to be fundamentally fair becomes even yet the lie human friendliness.
But how did I want to be fair fundamentally! How can I give everyone his own! This be enough for me: I give everyone my own.
Finally, my brothers, beware of doing injustice to all recluses! How could a recluse forget! How could he get even?
Like a deep well is a recluse. Easy it is to throw a rock into it; But did it sink to the bottom, tell, who wants to bring it back out?
Beware of insulting a recluse! But did you do it, well, so also kill him!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From child and marriage
I have a question for you alone, my brother: Like a ball of lead I throw this question into your soul that I knew how deep she was.
You are young and wish for yourself child and marriage. But I ask you: Are you a human who is _allowed_ to wish for a child?
Are you the victorious, the self conqueror, the commander of the senses, the master of your virtues? Thus I ask you.
Or talks out of your wish the animal and the neediness? Or loneliness? Or lack of peace with yourself?
I want that your victory and your freedom yearned for a child. Living monuments shall you build for your victory and your liberation.
Beyond yourself shall you build. But first you yourself must be built square of body and soul.
Not only forth shall you proliferate but up! For that may the garden of the marriage help you.
A higher body shall you create, a first movement, an out of itself rolling wheel, - a creating one shall you create.
Marriage: Thus I call the will to be two, to create the one which is more than those who created it. High respect towards one another I call marriage addressed to the wanting persons of such want.
This be the meaning and the truth of your marriage. But that which the way-too-many call marriage, those excessive ones, - ach, how do I call this?
Ach, this poverty of the soul of being two! Ach, this dirt of the soul of being two! Ach this pitiful contentment of being two!
Marriage they call all of this; And they say their marriages were united in heaven.
Well, I don't like him, this heaven of the excessive ones! No, I don't like them, those in the heavenly net embedded animals!
Far from me stay also the god who approaches dragging to give his well wishes to that which he had not linked together!
Don't laugh about such marriages! Which child did not have reason to cry about his parents?
Worthy appeared this man to me and ready for the meaning of the Earth: But when I saw his wife appeared the Earth to me as a house for the senseless.
Yes, I wanted that the Earth shuddered in cramps when a holy person and a goose mate with one another.
This person walked like a heroe towards truths and finally he caught himself a small cleaned lie. His marriage he calls it.
He was austere in communication and he chose selectively. But at one time he damaged his company for all times: His marriage he calls it.
He looked for a maiden with the virtues of an angel. But at once he became the maiden of a woman, and now it would be necessary that he through this even became an angel.
Careful I found now all buyers, and all have cunning eyes. But even the most cunning person buys his wife yet in a sack.
Many short idiocies - that is called love with you. And your marriage sets an end to many short idiocies, as a long stupidity.
Your love for the wife and the wife's love for the husband: Ach, may she yet be compassionate with suffering and veiled gods! But mostly reveal two animals each other.
But even yet your best love is only an enchanted parabel and painfully glowing coals. A flame it is which shall shine towards higher paths for you.
Past yourselves you shall love someday! Thus first _learn_ to love! And therefore you had to drink the bitter bowl of your love.
Bitterness is in the bowl also of the best love: Thus she creates desire for the superhuman, thus she makes thirsty you, the creating one!
Thirst to the creating one, arrow and desire for the superhuman: Tell me, my brother, is this your will for marriage?
Holy means such a will and such marriage to me. -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From suicide
Many die too late, and several die too early. Yet is regarded strange the teaching: "Die at the right time!"
Die at the right time: Thus teaches Zarathustra.
Certainly, who never lives at the right time, how should he ever die at the right time? Might he yet have never been born! - Thus I advise the excessive ones.
But also the excessive ones act yet prominent with their dying, and also the most hollow nut wants to be cracked.
All persons take the dying seriously: But the death is not a party yet. Still did the humans not learn how one celebrates the most beautiful parties.
The consummating death I show you which to the living becomes a thorn and a vow.
His death dies the consummating person, victorious, surrounded by hopeful and promising persons.
That's how one should learn how to die; And there should not be a party where such a dying person did not give his vows to the living persons!
This way to die is the best; The second however is: To die during battle and to waste a grand soul.
But equally hated by the battling person and the victorious person is your grinning death who sneaks up like a thief - and yet he comes as a master.
My death I praise to you, the voluntary death which comes to me because _I_ want it.
And when did I want it? - Who has a goal and a heir, he wants the death at the right time for goal and heir.
And out of awe for goal and heir he will not hang up thin garlands any more in the sanctuary of life.
Indeed, not did I want to resemble the rope makers: They draw their thread long and walk themselves always backwards.
Some person becomes even too old for his truth and victories; A toothless mouth does not have the right to every truth any more.
And everybody who wants to have fame has to at a certain time part from the honor, and practice the heavy art to - go at the right time.
One has to stop letting oneself eat when one tastes the best: This is what those know who want to be loved for long.
Sour apples are certainly there, their predicament wants that they wait for the last day in autum: And at the same time they become ripe, yellow and wrinkly.
Others ages the heart first and other the mind. And some are elderly in the youth: But late young keeps long young.
To some person the life was unhappy: A poisonous worm feeds on his heart. Thus he may be aware that the dying might be even more beneficial for him.
Some person becomes never sweet, he already decays during the summer. Cowardliness it is which makes him hang on to his branch.
Way too many live and way too long do they hang on their branches. May a storm come who shakes all of this decayed and worm eaten material off the tree!
May preachers of the _fast_ death come! Those would be the right storms and shakers of the life trees to me But I only hear the slow death preaching and patience with all "terrestrial".
Ach, you preach patience with the terrestrial? This terrestrial it is which has too much patience with you, you gossipers!
Indeed, too early died such Hebrew whom the preachers of the slow death praise: And to many it became since then their demise that he died too early.
Still he knew only the tears and the depression of the Hebrew, including the hate of the good and just persons, - the Hebrew Jesus: There the desire for death overcame him.
Had he yet stayed in the desert and far away from the good and just persons! Maybe he had learned to live and learned to love the Earth - and the laughing as well!
Believe me, my brothers! He died too early; He himself would have recalled his teaching had he reached my age! Nobel enough was he to recall!
But immature was he yet. immature loves the young man and immature he also hates human and Earth. Tied down and heavy is him yet mind set and mind wing.
But in the mature man is more child than in the young man, and less depression: He understands death and life better.
Free towards death and free in death, holy no-sayer, when it is not time anymore for yes: Thus he understands death and life.
That your dying is no slander towards human and Earth, my friends: This I petition from the honey of your soul.
In your dying shall yet glow your mind and your virtue, equal to a sunset around the Earth: Otherwise the dying is mishappen for you.
Thus I want to die myself, that you friends for my wish love the Earth more; And Earth soil I want to become again, that I find peace in Her who gave birth to me.
Indeed, a goal had Zarathustra, he threw his ball: Now you friends be the heirs of my goal, to you I throw the golden ball.
Rather than anything I see you, my friends, throw the golden ball! And thus I wander still a while on Earth: Forgive me!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the giving virtue
1.
When Zarathustra had departed from the town which his heart was opened for and whose name is called: "The colorful cow" - many followed him who called themselves his disciples and gave him the entourage. Thus they came to a fork road: There Zarathustra told them that he from now on wanted to walk alone; Because he was a friend of the walking in solitude. But his disciples offered him a pole on whose golden handle a snake curled herself around the sun. Zarathustra was happy about the pole and he supported himself on it; Then he spoke thus to his disciples.
Tell me yet: How did gold reach the highest value? Because it is uncommon and useless and shiny and light in glitter; It donates itself always.
Only as the icon of the highest virtue reached gold the highest value. Like golden shines the glance of the giving person. Golden-shine creates peace between moon and sun.
Uncommon is the highest virtue and unuseful, shiny it is and light in glitter: A giving virtue is the highest virtue.
Indeed, I understand you well, my disciples: You seek, like me, the giving virtue. What did you have in common with cats and wolves?
This is your thirst, to become yourselves sacrifices and gifts: And therefore you have the thirst to accumulate all wealth in your souls.
Insatiably your soul seeks treasures and jewels, because your virtue is insabiable in wanting to give.
You force all things towards you and in you, that they shall flow back out of your beingness as the gifts of your love.
Indeed, the robber of all values must such a giving love become; But sane and holy do I call this egoism.
Another egoism exists, an all to poor one, a starving one, which always wants to steal, such egoism of the sick persons, the sick egoism.
With the eye of the thief she glances at all shining; With the greed of the hunger she measures him who has plenty to eat; And she always sneaks around the table of the giving persons.
Disease speaks out of such longing and invisible degeneration; From a sickly body speaks the thievish greed of this egoism.
Tell me, my brothers: What means to us bad and worst? Is is not _degeneration_? - And degeneration we always unveal when the giving soul is missing.
Upwards leads our path, from the mode beyond to the super-mode. But a horror is for us the degenerating sense, which speaks: "All for myself".
Upwards flies our sense: Thus he is a parable of our body, the parable of an elevation. Such parables of elevations are the names of virtues.
That is how the body walks through the history, a becoming person and a fighting person. And the mind - what is it to him? Harbinger of his battles and victories, companion and echo.
Parables are all names of good and bad: They don't speak out, they only wave. A fool who wants to hear from them!
Watch out, my brothers, for every hour, when your mind wants to talk in parables: There is the source of your virtue.
Elevated is there your body, and resurrected; With his delight he charms the mind, that he becomes creator and assessor and loving person and benefactor of all things.
When your heart surges broadly and completely, equal to the stream, a benediction and a danger to the dwellers near the stream: There is the source of your virtue.
When you are above praise and disapproval, and your will wants to command over all things, as a loving person's will: There is the source of your virtue.
When you despise the comfort and the soft bed, and can't camp far enough away from the comfort seekers: There is the source of your virtue.
When you are the wanting persons of one will, and you call this turning point of all urgence necessity: There is the source of your virtue.
Indeed, a new good and bad is she! Indeed, a new deep murmuring and the voice of a new well!
Power is she, this new virtue; A dominating thought is she and around him a smart soul: A golden sun and around her the snake of recognition.
2.
Here Zarathustra remained silent for a while and looked with love towards his disciples. Then he continued to speak thus: - And his voice had transformed.
Stay true to the Earth, my brothers, with the power of your virtue! Your giving love and your recognition serve the meaning of the Earth! Thus I plead to you and persuade you.
Don't let her fly away from the terrestrial and beat with the wings against eternal walls! Ach, there has always been so much flown away virtue!
Lead, like me, the flown away virtue back to Earth - yes, back to body and life: That she gives her meaning to the Earth, a human-meaning!
Hundredfold flew away and reached astray so far mind as well as virtue. Ach, in our body lives still all this delusion and reaching astray: Body and will has he there become.
Hundredfold tried and erred so far mind as well as virtue. Yes, an experiment was the human. Ach, much anti knowledge and error has become body through us!
Not only the virtue of millennia - also her insanity breaks out through us. Dangerous it is to be heir.
Still we fight step by step with the giant coincidence, and above the whole humanity reigned so far still the nonsense, the Non-Sense.
Your mind and your virtue serve the meaning of the Earth, my brothers: And the value of all things become newly established by you! Therefore you shall be warriors! Therefore you shall be creating persons!
Knowing cleanses the body itself; With knowledge seeking he raises himself; All urges become wholesome in the recognizing person; The soul of the elevated person becomes happy.
Doctor, help yourself: Thus you also help your sick person yet. This be his best help that he sees him with his eyes who heals himself.
Thousand paths there are which had never been walked on yet; Thousand healths and hidden islands of life. Unresearched and undiscovered is still human and human-Earth.
Watch and listen, you recluses! From the future come winds with secret wing flapping; And for fine ears it is good news.
You lonely people of today, you retiring ones, you shall one day be a folk: Out of you whom you chose from yourselves shall grow a chosen folk: - And out of this the Superhuman.
Indeed, a place of convalescence shall yet the Earth become! And already lingers a new smell around her, a well-being bringing one - and a new hope!
3.
When Zarathustra had said those words he was silent like one who had not said his last word; For a long time he weighed the cane doubtfully in his hand. Finally he spoke thus: - And his voice had changed.
Alone I go now my disciples! Also you go now away and alone! That is how I want it.
Indeed, I advise you: Go away from me and defend yourselves against Zarathustra! And better yet: Be ashamed of him! Maybe he betrayed you.
The human of recognition must not only love his enemies, but also be able to hate his friends.
One forgives his teacher poorly when one only remains the student. And why don't you want to pluck on my wreath?
You honor me; But what if your honoring one day falls over? Beware that not an image column falls on you!
You say that you believe in Zarathustra? But what is so good about Zarathustra! You are my believers: But what is good about all believers!
You had not searched for yourselves: There you found me. That is how all believers do it; That is why it is so pitiful with all believing.
Now I call on you to loose me and to find yourselves; And only when you all have denied me, will I return to you.
Indeed, with different eyes, my brothers, will I then search for my lost ones; With a different love will I then love you.
And one day yet you should have become friends to me and children of a hope: Then I want to be with you for the third time, that I celebrate the grand noon with you.
And that is the grand midday, because the human stands in the middle of his pathway between animal and superhuman and he celebrates his path to the evening as his highest hope: Because it is the path to a new morning.
There will the demising one give himself consolidation, that he be a transient; And the sun of his recognition will stand in the midday for him.
"Dead are all gods: Now we want that the superhuman lived." - This be one day on the grand noon our last will! -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
Second Part
"-And only when you have all denied me, will I return to you.
Indeed, with different _eyes_, my brothers, will I then search for my lost ones; With a different love will I then love you".
Zarathustra, from the giving virtue
The child with the mirror
Hereupon Zarathustra went back again into the mountains and into the solitude of his cave and withdrew himself from the humans: Waiting equal to a sower, who had dispersed his seeds. But his soul became full of impatience and yearning for those whom he loved: Because he still had to give them much. This namely is the hardest, out of love to close the open hand and as the giving person to protect the dignity.
Thus passed moons and years to the recluse; His wisdom however grew and caused him pains through her abundance.
But one morning he awoke before the morning red, he contemplated long on is bedding and spoke finally to his heart:
Why did I yet get so startled in my dream that I woke up? Did not a child step to me who carried a mirror?
"Oh, Zarathustra" - spoke the child to me - "look at yourself in the mirror!"
But when I looked into the mirror there I screamed and my heart was shaken: Because not myself I saw in it, but a devil's grimace and mocking laughter.
Indeed, all to well do I understand the dream's sign and reminder: My _teaching_ is in danger, weed wants to be called wheat!
My enemies have become powerful and have disfigured the image of my teaching, thus my loved ones have to be ashamed of the gifts which I gave to them.
Lost have become my friends to me; The hour came for me to search for my lost ones! -
With these words Zarathustra jumped up, but not like a frightened person who struggles for air, but rather like a visionary and singer, who is being jumped on by the mind. Surprised looked his eagle and his snake at him: Because equal to the morning red lied a coming happiness on his face.
What happened to me yet my animals? - said Zarathustra. Am I not transformed! Did the happiness not come to me like a storm wind?
Foolish is my happiness and foolish things will it talk: Too young still it is - thus have patience with him!
Wounded I am from my happiness: All suffering persons shall be my doctors!
To my friends I may again return downwards and also to my enemies! Zarathustra may again talk and give and love to do the most favorite!
My impatient love flows over in streams, downwards after ascent and descent. From the mute mountains and thunders of the pain rushes my soul into the valleys.
Too long I yearned and glanced into the distance. Too long I belonged to the solitude: Thus I unlearned the remaining in silence.
Mouth have I become wholly and fully, and roaring of a stream from high rocks: Downwards I want to plunge my speech into the valleys.
And may my stream of love plunge into obstacles! How should a stream not finally find his path to the ocean!
Surely there is a lake in me, a reclusive one, self sufficient one; But my stream of love tears him with him downwards - to the ocean!
New paths I walk on, a new speech comes to me; Tired I became, equal to all creating persons, of the old tounges. Not wants my mind any longer walk on worn out soles.
Too slowly runs all speaking for me: - Into your wagon I jump, storm! And also you will I yet whip with my meanness!
Like a scream and a cheer will I fare across wide oceans, until I find the happy islands, where my friends dwell: -
And my enemies among them! How do I love everybody to whom I just may speak! Even my enemies belong to my contentment.
And when I want to climb onto my wildest horse, thus helps me my spear always up best: He is my foot's alltime ready servant: -
The spear which I fling against my enemies! How do I thank my enemies, that I finally may fling him!
Too great was the tension of my cloud: Between laughters of the flashes will I throw hail showers into the depth.
Powerfully will there lift my chest, powerfully will she blow her storm across the mountains: Thus comes relief to her.
Indeed, equal to a storm comes my happiness and my freedom! But my enemies shall believe, _the_wicked_ raged over their heads.
Yes, also you will be startled, my friends, of my wild wisdom; And maybe you flee away including my enemies.
Ach, that I understood it to lure you back with shepherd's flutes! Ach, that my lioness wisdom learned how to tenderly roar! And much did we already learn with one another!
My wild wisdom became pregnant on secluded mountains; On raw stones she gave birth to her young one, youngest.
Now she runs madly through the harsh desert and searches and searches for a soft lawn - my old wild wisdom!
On your hearts' soft lawn, my friends! - on top of your love she wants to lay her most loved!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
On the happy islands
The figs fall from the trees, they are good and sweet; And whilst they fall, their red skin tears. A north wind am I for ripe figs.
Thus, like figs, fall those teachings to you, my friends: Now drink her juice and her sweet flesh! Autumn it is around and pure sky and afternoon.
Look, which abundance is around us! And from the excessiveness it is beautiful to look out onto distant oceans.
Once one said God when one looked onto distant oceans; But now I taught you to say: Superhuman.
God is a speculation; But I want that your speculating did not reach farther than your creating will.
Could you _create_ a god? - Thus remain silent yet about all gods! But certainly you could create the superhuman.
Not you possibly yourselves, my brothers! But to fathers and ancestors of the superhuman could you recreate yourselves: And this be your best creating! -
God is an assumption: But I want that your assuming be limited in the conceivability.
Could you _think_ a god? - But this meant for you will for the truth, that all be transformed into human - conceivables, human - visionables, human - feelables! Your own senses you shall think to the end!
And what you called world, that shall first be created by you: Your reason, your image, your will, your love it shall become itself! And indeed, for your inner peace, you discerning persons!
And how did you want to bear the life without this hope, you discerning persons? Neither into the incomprehensible should you be allowed to be born into nor into the unreasonable.
But that I offer you wholly my heart, you friends: _If_ there were gods, how did I tolerate it not to be a god! _Thus_ there are no gods.
Certainly I drew the conclusion; But now he is drawing me. -
God is an assumption: But who drank all agony of this assumption without dying? Shall the belief be taken from the creating person and the floating in eagle-distances from the eagle?
God is a thought, who makes all straight things crooked, and all that stands rotating. How? The time was gone, and all transient things only lie?
To think this is whirlwind and dizziness of human bones and more the stomach a vomiting: Indeed, the twirling illness I call it, to assume such.
Adverse I call it and human-antagonistic: All of this teaching of one and full and stagnated and saturated and imperishable!
All imperishable - that is only a parable! And the poets lie too much. -
But from time and becoming shall the best parables talk: A praise shall they be and a justification of all transience!
Creating - that is the great salvation from suffering, and the easy-becoming of life. But that the creating person be, for that itself sorrow is necessary and much transformation.
Yes, much bitter dying must be in your lives, you creating persons! Thus you be advocates and justifiers of all transience.
That the creating person be the child himself, that will be born new, for that he also must want to be the childbearer and the pain of the childbearer.
Indeed, through a hundred souls did I walk on my path and through a hundred cradles and labor pains. Many farewells did I live, I know the heartbreaking last hours.
But that's how my creating will wants it, my destiny. Or that I tell you more honestly: Such destinies particularly - wants my will.
Everything feeling in me suffers and is in prisons: But my wanting comes always to me as my liberator and joy bringer.
Wanting frees: This is the true teaching of will and freedom - thus Zarathustra teaches her to you.
Not-anymore-wanting and not-anymore-appreciating and not-anymore-creating! Ach, that this great tiredness stayed always far from me!
Also in recognizing I only feel my creating- and becoming-motivation; And when innocence is in my recognition, then this happens because will for creating is in her.
Away from god and gods lured me this will; What was then to create, when gods - were there!
But to the human he drives me evermore anew, my fervent creating-will; Thus it drives the hammer towards the stone.
Ach, you humans, in the stone sleeps an image for me, the image of my images! Ach, that is must sleep in the hardest, ugliest stone!
Now rages my hammer gruesomely against his prison. From the stone scatter pieces: Why would I care?
Completing I want it: Because a shadow came to me - of all things the quietest and lightest came once to me!
The beauty of the Superhuman came to me as a shadow. Ach, my brothers! Why would - the gods be yet my business! -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the compassionate persons
My friends, it came a mocking speech to your friend: "Only look at Zarathustra! Did he not walk among us like among animals?"
But this way it is better said: "The recognizing person walks among humans _as_ among animals."
But the human himself means to the recognizing person: The animal who has red cheeks.
How did this happen to him? Is it not because he had to be ashamed too often?
Oh, my friends! Thus speaks the recognizing person: Shame, shame, shame - this is the history of the human!
And therefore the noble person makes an effort not to be ashamed: Shame he develops for all suffering.
Indeed, I don't like them, the merciful persons, who are complacent in their co-suffering: Too much they are poor in shame.
Must I be compassionate, so will I yet not be called such; And when I am, then rather from the far.
I also like to conceal my head and flee away, before I yet am recognized: And therefore I call on you to do, my friends!
May my destiny always lead across the path sorrow-free persons, like you, to me, and such, with whom hope and supper and honey I _am allowed_ to enjoy together!
Indeed, I did certainly do this and that on suffering persons: But better things I seemed to do for me usually when I learned to be better at being happy.
Since there are humans, has the human too little been happy: This alone, my brothers, is our heritage-sin!
And would we learn to be better at being happy, thus we unlearn the best to hurt others and to think hurtful things.
Therefore I wash my hand which helped the suffering person, therefore I wipe also yet my soul.
For that I saw the suffering person suffer, that is why I was ashamed for his shame; And when I helped him, there I hurt his pride severely.
Great commitments don't make thankful, but vengeful; And when the small service will not be forgotten, thus it becomes yet a chewing-worm.
"Be rough in taking! Be exceptional in taking!" - Thus I advise those who have nothing to give away.
But I am a giving person: I like to give as a friend to friends. Strangers however and poor people may pick the fruit themselves from my tree: Thus is makes less ashamed.
But beggars should one completely abolish! Indeed, one grudges to give to them and, grudges not to give to them.
And the same with the dishonest persons and bad consciences! Believe me, my friends: Conscience-bites of remorse educate to bite.
The worst however are the small thoughts. Indeed, better yet done rude, than thought small!
Truly you say: "The pleasure about small bad deeds saves us from some large bad deed." But here one should not want to conserve.
Like an ulcer is the bad deed: She itches and scratches and breaks out, - she talks honestly.
"Look, I am illness" - so talks the bad deed; This is her honesty.
But equal to the fungus is the small thought: He creeps and ducks down and wants to be nowhere - until the whole body is rotten and withered through small mushrooms.
He, however, who is possessed by the devil, I say this word into the ear: "Better yet you grow you devil large! Also for you there is still a path of grandeur!" -
Ach, my brothers! One knows of everybody something too much! And some person becomes transparent to us, but for that we can still not for a long time get through him.
It is difficult to live with humans because remaining silent is so difficult.
And not against him who is revolting to us we are the most austere, but against him who is none of our business.
But did you have a suffering friend so be a place of rest for is suffering, yet equally a hard bed, a strawbed: Thus will you be of best service to him.
And does your friend do bad to you, so speak: "I forgive you for what you did to me; That you however did it to _you_, - how could I forgive this!"
Thus talks all great love: She overcomes also yet forgiveness and compassion.
One should hold on to his heart; Because did one let it loose, how fast does one's head there run off!
Ach, where in the world happened larger foolish actions than with the compassionate persons? And what in the world caused more misery than the foolish actions of those compassionate persons?
Beware for all loving persons who don't also have an elevation, which is above their co-suffering!
Thus spoke the devil once to me: "Also God has his hell: That is his love for the humans."
And recently I heard him say this word: "God is dead; Through his co-suffering with the humans he died." -
Thus be warned of the co-suffering: _From this_ comes yet a heavy cloud to the humans! Indeed, I understand the weather signs!
But remember also this word: All great love is yet above all of her co-suffering: Because she wants to yet - create the loved!
"I bring myself to my love, and my fellow equally to me" - thus proceeds the speech of all creating persons.
But all creating persons are firm. -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
From the priests
And once gave Zarathustra his disciples a sign and spoke those words to them:
"Here are priests: And when they are also my enemies, walk quietly past them and with a sleeping sword!
Also among them are heroes; Many of them suffered too much -: Thus they want to make others suffer.
Evil enemies are they: Nothing is more vengeful than their humility. And easily becomes stained he who attacks them.
But my blood is related to theirs: And I want to know my blood also yet be honored in theirs." -
And when they had passed by, pain flared up in Zarathustra; And not for long had he wrestled with his pain, there he began to talk:
It plagues me about those priests. They also go against my taste; But that is the least of all problems for me since I am among humans.
But I suffer and suffered with them: Imprisoned persons they are to me and written off persons. He, who they call savior, beat them into confines: -
Into confines of fake values and delusional words! Ach that one saved them yet from their savior!
On an island they believed to land once, when the ocean tore them around; But look, it was a sleeping monster!
Fake values and delusional words: These are the worst monsters for mortal persons, - long sleeps and waits in them the demise.
But finally it comes and wakes up and feeds on and devours that which built huts on him.
Oh look yet at those huts, which the priests built for themselves! Churches they call their sweet smelling caves.
Oh over this falsified light, this thick air! Here, where the soul - is not allowed to fly up to their height!
Thus instead commands their belief: "On the knees up on the stairs, you sinners!"
Indeed, rather do I see yet the shameless person than the dislocated eyes of their shame and reverence!
Who created for themselves such caves and repentance-stairs? Where it not those who wanted to hide themselves and who were ashamed in front of the pure sky?
And only when the pure sky looks again through broken blankets, and down towards grass and red poppy on broken walls, - will I again devote my heart to the sites of this god.
They called god which contradicted them and hurt them: And indeed, there was much heroe-mannerism in their worshipping!
And not otherwise did they know how to love their god, then through hammering the human on to the cross!
As corpses they considered to live, they beat their corpse black; Also from their speeches I still smell the nauseating aroma of death chambers.
And who lives near them, he lives near black ponds, from which the toad sings her song with sweet deep meaning.
Better songs they should sing for me, that I learned to believe in their savior: More saved should his disciples look for me!
Naked I want to see them: Because alone the beauty should preach repentance. But who did this masked sorrow possibly persuade!
Indeed, their saviors themselves did not come from the freedom and the freedom's seventh heaven! Indeed, they themselves walked never on the carpets of recognition!
Out of gaps consisted the intellect of those saviors; But into every gap they had placed their delusion, their gap repenter, who they called god.
In their co-suffering has their intellect drowned, and when they widened and over-widened out of co-suffering, swam on top always a grand foolishness.
Eagerly they drove their herd and with screaming over their path: As if there was only one path to the future! Indeed, also those shepherds belonged yet to the sheep!
Small minds and bloated souls had those shepherds: But, my brothers, what small countries were so far also the most bloated souls!
Blood signs they wrote on to the path which they walked on, and their foolishness taught that one proved the truth with blood.
But blood is the worst witness of truth; Blood poisons the purest teaching yet to delusion and hate of the hearts.
And when someone walks through fire for his teaching, - what does that prove! It rather is indeed that out of one's own arson comes the own teaching!
Warm heart and cold head: Where this meets, there develops the stormwind, the "savior".
There were bigger ones indeed, and more noble born, than those whom the folk calls savior, those tearing down storm winds!
And yet from greater ones than all saviors have been, must you, my brothers, become saved, did you want to find the path to freedom!
Never yet there has been a Superhuman. Naked did I see both, the greatest and the smalles human: -
All too similar they are yet to one another. Indeed, also the greatest one I found - all too human!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.

From the virtuous persons

With thunders and heavenly fireworks must one talk to lame and sleeping senses.
But the voice of beauty talks quietly: She sneaks herself only into the most awake souls.
Quietly shivered and laughed today my shield for me; That is the beauty's holy laughing and shivering.
About you, you virtuous persons, laughed today my beauty. And thus came her voice to me: "They want yet - to be paid!"
You want to yet be paid, you virtuous persons! Want to have wage for virtue and heaven for earth and eternal for your today?
And now you are wrathful towards me, that I teach there was no wage- and paymaster? And indeed, I don't even teach that virtue is its own wage.
Ach, this is my sorrow: In the ground of matters has one deceived wage and penalty into - and now also yet into the ground of your souls, you virtuous persons!
But equal to the muzzle of the male pig shall my word tear up the ground of your souls; Plowshare I want to be named for you.
All secrets from your ground shall get to the light; And when you are lying churned and broken in the sun, will also your lie be excreted by your truth.
For this is your truth: You are _too_cleanly_ for the dirt of the words: Revenge, Punishment, Reward, Retribution.
You love your virtue, like the mother her child; But when heard one that a mother wanted to be paid for her love?
It is your most loved self, your virtue. The thirst of the cycle is in you: To reach oneself again, for that wrestles and turns itself every circle.
And equal to the star which darkens, is every work of your virtue: Always is his light still traveling and wanders - and when will it not be traveling anymore?
Thus is the light of your virtue still traveling, also when the work has been done. May it be now forgotten and dead: Its beam of light still lives and wanders.
That your virtue be your self and not a foreign thing, a skin, a coating: That is the truth from the ground of your soul, you virtuous persons! -
But certainly there are those for whom virtue means grinding under a whip: And you have listened too much to their screaming!
And there are others who call virtue the becoming lazy of their weaknesses; And when their hate and their jealousy once stretch their limbs, becomes their "justice" vivacious and rubs itself the sleepy eyes.
And there are others who are being pulled down: Their devils pull them. But the more they are sinking the more glowing shines their eye and the desire for their god.
Ach, also their screaming reached your ears, you virtuous persons: What I am _not,_ that is for me god and virtue!
And there are others who come along heavy and grating equal to carriages which drive stones down: They talk much of dignity and virtue, - their impediment they call virtue!
And there are others who are equal to common clocks who had been wound up; They do their tictac and they want that one calls tictac - virtue.
Indeed, on those I have my amusement: Where I find such clocks will I wind them up with my mockery; And they shall at that yet be purring!
And others are proud of their handful of justice and they commit out of their own deliberation wrongful deeds on all things: Thus the world becomes drowned in their injustice.
Ach, how miserable the word "virtue" runs out of their mouths! And when they say: "I am righteous", so it always sounds right away like: "I am avenged!"
With their virtue they want to scratch their enemies the eyes out; And they only elevate themselves to degrade others.
And then again there are such who sit in their swamps and talk thus out of the reed: "Virtue, that is to sit quietly in the swamp.
We bite nobody and walk out of the path of him who wants to bite; And in all we have the opinion which one gives to us."
And then again there are such who love gestures and think: Virtue is a form of gesture.
Their knees always pray, and their hands are praises of virtue, but their heart knows nothing about it.
And then again there are such who think it is virtue to say: "Virtue is necessary"; But they basically just believe that police is necessary.
And someone who can not see the hight about the humans calls it virtue that he sees their lowness all too closely: Thus he calls his angry glance virtue.
And some want to be strengthened and built up and they call it virtue; And others want to be pushed over - and also call it virtue.
And in that manner believe almost all in being part of the virtue; And at least wants everyone be an expert over "good" and "bad".
But not for that came Zarathustra, to tell all those liars and fools: "What do _you_ know about virtue! What _could_ you know about virtue!" -
But rather that you, my friends, became tired of the old words which you have learned from the fools and liars:
Became tired of the words "reward", "retribution", "punishment", "revenge in the justice" -
Became tired to say: "That an action is good requires it to be selfless".
Ach, my friends! That _your_ self be in the action like the mother is in her child: That be for me _your_ word of virtue!
Indeed, I took away from you certainly a hundred words and the favorite toys of your virtue; And now you are wrathful towards me like children are wrathful.
They played at the ocean, - there came the wave and tore them their toys into the depths: Now they cry.
But the same wave shall bring them new toys and shall pour out new colorful mussels before them!
Through this they will be comforted; And equal to them shall also you, my friends, have your comforts - and new colorful mussels! -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.

From the dysfunctional folks
Life is a water well of lust; But where the dysfunctional folks participate in drinking, there are all wells poisoned.
All clean things I behold as dear; But I don't like to see the grinning mouths and the thirst of the unclean.
They threw their glance down into the well: Now sparkles to me their adverse smile up out of the well.
They have poisoned the holy water with their lechery; And when they called their dirty dreams lust, they even yet poisoned the words.
Unwilling becomes the flame when they lay their wet hearts against the fire; The mind itself cooks and smokes where the dysfunctional folks step towards the fire.
Sugary and overcrumbly becomes in their hand the fruit: Windweak and treetopanorexic makes their glance the fruit tree.
And someone who turned away from life, only turned away from the dysfunctional folks: He did not want to share well and flame and fruit with the dysfunctional folks.
And someone who went into the desert and together with predatory animals suffered from thirst, just did not want to sit with dirty camel drivers around the cistern.
And someone who came along like an annihilator and like a hail-beating towards all fruit fields, wanted to only set his foot into the jaw of the dysfunctional folks and thus stuff their throat.
And not that is the bite on which I choked the most, to know that the life itself has a need for animosity and dying and martyr crosses: -
But I asked once and almost suffocated from my question: How? Has the life also a _need_ for dysfunctional folks?
Are poisoned wells necessary and stinking fires and dirty dreams and maggots in the bread of life?
Not my hate, but my disgust fed hungrily from life! Ach, of the mind I often became tired, when I even found the dysfunctional folks witty!
And I turned my back towards the ruling persons, when I saw what they call ruling: Bartering and marketing for power - with the dysfunctional folks!
Among peoples I lived with foreign tongue, with closed ears: That their bartering tongue remained foreign to me and their marketing for power.
And holding the nose I went unmotivated through all Yesterday and Today: Indeed, bad smells all Yesterday and Today of the writing dysfunctional folks!
Equal to a cripple who became deaf and blind and mute: Thus I lived long, that I did not live with power- and writing- and lust-dysfunctional folks.
Laboriously climbed my mind stairs, and carefully; Pittances of pleasure were his refreshment; On the cane stalked the blind person the life.
What happened to me yet? How did I rescue myself from the disgust? Who renewed my eye? How did I achieve flying to the hight, where no dysfunctional folks sit at the well anymore?
Created my disgust itself wings for me and spring-finding powers? Indeed, into the highest did I have to fly, that I found the spring of joy again!
Oh, I found him, my brothers! Here in the highest swells to me the spring of motivation! And there is a life in which no dysfunctional folks participate in drinking!
Almost too fiercely do you flow for me, geyser of motivation! And often you empty the cup again, because you want to fill it!
And yet I must learn to approach you more modestly: All too fiercely streams yet my heart towards you: -
My heart, on which my summer burns, the short, hot, melancholic, overly grateful: How yearns my summer heart for your coolness (blueness)!
Past is the hesitant sorrow of my spring time! Past is the meanness of my snow flakes in June! Summer I have become all the way, and summer noon!
A summer in the highest with cold springs and peaceful quietness: Oh, come, my friends, that the quietness became yet more peaceful! Because this is _our_ height and our home: Too high and steep we live here for all unclean and their thirst. Just throw your clean eyes into the well of my motivation, you friends! How could it become murky through this! Laughing with you shall he with _his_ purity!
On the tree (called) future we build our nest; Eagles shall bring us recluses food in their beaks!
Indeed, no meal, on which unclean persons were allowed to participate in dining! They would believe they devoured fire and they would burn their mouths!
Indeed, no shelters we hold here reserved for unclean persons! Ice cave would our happiness mean to their bodies and their ghosts!
And like strong winds do we want to live above them, neighbors to the eagles, neighbors to the snow, neighbors to the sun: Thus live strong winds.
And equal to a wind will I once yet blow into them and will with my mind take the breath away from their mind: Thus wants it my future.
Indeed, a strong wind is Zarathustra towards all low lands; And such advise he recommends to his enemies and everything which spits and spews: Beware of spewing _against_ the wind!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.

From the Tarantulas
Look, this is the cave of the tarantula! Do you want to see it for yourself? Here hangs her net: Touch it so that it jitters.
There she comes willingly: Welcome, tarantula! Black sits on your back your triangle and your emblem; And I also know what sits in your soul.
Revenge sits in your soul: Whereever you bite there grows black scab; With revenge makes your poison the soul turning!
Thus I speak to you who make the souls turning, in parables, you preachers of _uniformity_! Tarantulas you are for me and hidden revenge seekers!
But I want to bring your hiding places already to the light: Therefore I laugh into your faces my laughter of hight.
Therefore I tear on your nets, that your anger lured you out of your lie cave, and that your revenge jumped up from behind your word "justice".
For that the human be rescued from the revenge: This is to me the bridge to the highest hope and a rainbow after long rainstorms.
But differently wants this indeed the tarantulas. "This in particular meant to us justice, that the world became full of the rainstorms of our revenge." - Thus they speak with one another.
"Revenge we want to practice and insulting towards all who are not equal to us." - Thus vow the tarantula hearts to themselves.
"And 'will to equality' - this itself shall henceforth become the name for virtue; And against everything that has power do we want to raise our screaming!"
You preachers of equality, the tyrant-insanity of the powerlessness screams thus out of you for "equality": Your most secretive tyrant-desires wrap themselves up hence in virtue-words!
angered arrogance, restrained envy, possibly your fathers' arrogance and envy: Out of you it breaks out as a flame and insanity of revenge.
What the father kept quiet about, that comes out talking through the son; And often I found the son as the father's revealed secret.
They resemble the inspired persons: But not the heart it is what inspires them, - but the revenge. And when they become subtle and cold it's not the intellect, but the envy which makes them subtle and cold.
Their jealousy also brings them on to the thinker's path; And this is the characteristic of their jealousy - they always go too far: That their fatigue has to in the end lay itself to sleep on snow.
From each of their complaints sounds revenge, in each of their praises is a pain causing; And being judges seems to be peace of mind to them.
Thus I advise you my friends: Distrust all in which the urge to punish is mighty!
That is folk of bad manners and heritage; Out of their faces glances the executioner and the sniffer hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their justice! Indeed, in their souls is not only honey missing.
And when they call themselves "the good and the just", thus don't forget that they are not missing anything towards the Pharisee, than - power!
My friends, I don't want to become mixed up and confused with someone else.
There are such who preach my teaching of life: And at the same time they are preachers of uniformity and tarantulas.
That they talk for the sake of life, whether they sit in their cave uniformally, those poison spiders, and turned away from life: Doing that they want to hurt.
Such persons they want to hurt through this which have the power now: Because with those is the preaching of death yet best at home.
Was it differently thus would the tarantulas teach differently: And in particular they were formerly the best world-deniers and heretics- burners.
With those preachers of uniformity I do not want to be mixed up and confused. For thus speaks the justice to _me_: "The humans are not all the same".
And they also shall not become like that! What was my love for the Superhuman if I spoke differently?

On a thousand bridges and piers shall they crowd to the future, and ever more war and inequality shall be set between them:
Thus lets me my great love talk!

Inventors of pictures and ghosts shall they become in their hostilities, and with their pictures and ghosts they shall yet fight the highest war against one another!

Good and bad, and rich and poor, and high and low, and all names of values: Weapons shall it be and shattering characteristics from this that the life again and again must overcome itself!

Into the hight it wants to build itself with pillars and steps, the life itself: Into vast distances it wants to glance and out towards tranquil beauties, - _therefore_ it needs altitude!

And because it needs altitude, it needs steps and contradiction of the steps and the ascending persons! Ascending wants the life and while ascending surmounting itself.

And look yet, my friends! Here, where is the tarantula's cave, lift themselves up an old temple's ruins, - look yet with brightened eyes towards it!

Indeed, who here once built up his thoughts in stone, about the secret of all life he knew equally much as the wisest!

That battle and inequality also yet be in the beauty and war for power and superpower: This he teaches us here in the most pronounced parable.

How divine are breaking vault and arch one another here, in the ring fight:
How with light and shadow they strive against one another, the divine-striving -

Therefore confidently and beautifully let us also be enemies, my friends!
May we divinely strive _against_ one another! -

Beware! There bit me the tarantula as well, my old female enemy! Divinely confident and beautiful she bit me in the finger!

"Punishment must be and justice" - thus she thinks: "Not for nothing shall he sing songs here for the honor of hostility!"

Yes, she has avenged herself! And beware! Now will she with revenge even make my soul rotating!

But that I will _not_ rotate, my friends, fasten me to this column here! Rather column-saint will I be than whorl of vindictiveness!
Indeed, no rotating- and whirlwind is Zarathustra; And when he is a dancer, nevermore yet a tarantula-dancer! -

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

From the famous wise persons

You have served the people and the superstitiousness of the people, all of you famous wise people! - And _not_ the truth! And in particular for this one paid you reverence.

And because of that one also endured your disbelief, because it was a joke and detour to the folk. Thus allows the master his slaves to be and enjoys their exuberance.

But who is hated by the folk like a wolf by the dogs: That is the free mind, the shackle-enemy, the non-worshiper, the in forests dwelling person.

To chase him out of his refuge - that has always been called by the folk "Sense for the right": Against him they still sick their sharptoothed dogs.

"Because the truth is there: Is the folk yet there! Beware, beware to the searching persons!" - Thus it echoed from ever before.

To your folk you wanted to make it right in their admiration: This would be called their "will to truth", you famous wise people!

And your heart spoke always to towards itself: "From the folk I came: From there also came to me the voice of god."

Hard headed and smart, equal to the donkey, have you always been the folk's advocate.

And some powerful person who wanted to fare well with the folk, harnessed in front of his horses yet - a donkey, a famous wise person.

And now I wanted, you famous wise people, that you threw the fur of the lion off yourselves all the way!

The fur of the predator, the colorfully spotted, and the tufts from the hair of the researching person, searching person, conquering person!

Ach, that I learn to believe into your "truthfulness", for that you needed to first break your worshipping intention.

Truthful - thus I call him who walks into godless deserts and who has broken his worshipping heart.

In the yellow sand and burned from the sun he probably glances thirsty towards the well-abundant islands where life rests under dark trees.

But his thirst does not persuade him to become equal to those comfortable persons: Because where there are oases there are also idol images.

Starving, violent, lonely, godless: Thus wants himself the lion-will to be.

Free from the merriment of the slaves, released from gods and worshippings, fearless and terrifying, grand and lonely: Thus is the will of the real person.

In the desert have always lived the real persons, the free spirits, as the masters of the desert; But in the cities live the well fed, famous wise people, - the draft animals.

Always namely they draw, as donkeys - the_carriage_of_the_folk!

Not that I was enraged about them because of this: But serving persons they remain and harnessed persons, also when they shine out of golden harnesses.

And often they were good servants and prizeworthy persons. Because thus speaks the virtue: If you must be a servant thus search for him whom your service benefits the most!

"The mind and the virtue of your master shall grow because you are his servant: Thus you grew yourself with his mind and his virtue!"

And indeed, you famous wise persons, you servants of the folk! You yourselves grew with the folk's mind and virtue - and the folk through you! To your honors I say this!

But folk you remain to me also still in your virtues, folk with stupid eyes, - folk which does not know what _mind_ is!

Mind is the life which itself cuts into life: Through the own torment it increases its own knowledge, - did you know this yet?

And the mind's happiness is this: To be anointed and through tears hallowed as the sacrifice animal, - did you know this yet?

And the blindness of the blind person and his searching and tapping shall yet give evidence of the sun's power, in which he glanced, - did you know this yet?

And with mountains shall the knowledgeable person learn how to _build_! Not much it is that the mind moves mountains, - did you know this yet?

You only know about the mind's spark: But you don't see the anvil which he is and not the cruelty of its hammer!

Indeed, you don't know the mind's pride! But yet less you would bear the mind's humbleness if it once wanted to speak!

And never yet could you throw your mind into a pit of snow: You are not hot enough for that! Thus you also don't know the ecstasies of his coldness.

But in everything you act too intimately with the mind; And out of the wisdom you often made an almshouse and hospital for bad poets.

You are not eagles: Thus you also did not experience the happiness in the terror of the mind. And who is no bird shall not camp above abysses.

You are mildly warm to me: But cold streams each deep revelation. Ice cold are the innermost wells of the mind: A refreshment for hot hands and active persons.

Honorably you are standing there and rigidly and with a straight back, you famous wise people! - No strong wind and will drives you.

Did you never see a sail go over the ocean, rounded and bloated and shaking before the monster of the wind?

Equal to the sail, shaking before the monster of the mind, goes my wisdom over the ocean - my wild wisdom!

But you servants of the folk, you famous wise people, - how _could_ you go with me! -

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

The Night Song

Night it is: Now talk louder all flowing wells. And also my soul is a flowing well.

Night it is: Now only awaken all songs of the loving persons. And also my soul is the song of a loving person.

An unsatisfied, an insatiable is in me; This wants to become loud. A yearning for love is in me, she talks herself the language of love.

Light I am: Ach, that I was night! But this is my loneliness, that I am girded by light.

Ach, that I was dark and nightlike! How could I nurse on the breasts of light!

And you, yourselves I wanted to bless, you little sparkling stars and luminous worms up there! - And be blissful through your light-gifts.

But I live in my own light, I drink the flames back into me, which break out of me.

I don't know the happiness of the taking person; And often I dreamed that stealing must be yet more joyful than taking.

This is my poverty, that my hand never rests from giving; This is my envy, that I see waiting eyes and the illuminated nights of desire.

Oh, unhappiness of all giving persons! Oh dimming of my sun! Oh desire for desiring! Oh hot hunger in the saturation!

They take from me: But do I yet touch their souls? A gap is between giving and taking; And the smallest gap is to be bridged last.

A hunger grows out of my beauty: Hurting I want those to whom I glow, robbing I want my blessed persons: - Thus I hunger for meanness.

The hand retracting, when already the hand reaches towards her; Hesitating equally to the waterfall, who yet hesitates within the fall: - Thus I hunger for meanness.

Such revenge imagines my abundance; Such treacherousness swells out of my loneliness.

My happiness in giving died in giving, my virtue became tired of herself in her excess!

Who always gives, his danger is that he loses the inhibition; Who always hands out, his hand and heart has callous from all the handing out.

My eye does not swell over any more before the humiliation of the pleading persons; My hand became too hard for the shivering of filled hands.

Where did the tear of my eye go and the velvet of my heart? Oh loneliness of all giving persons! Oh quietness of all glowing persons!

Many suns orbit in desolate space: To everything that is dark they talk to with their light, - to me they are quiet.

Oh this is the animosity of the light against glowing things, mercilessly it wanders in its tracks.

Unreasonable against glowing things in the deepest depths of the heart: Cold against suns, - thus wanders every sun.

Equal to a storm fly the suns in their tracks, this is their wandering. To their relentless will they follow, that is their coldness.

Oh, you only are the ones you dark beings, you nocturnal, who create warmth out of glowing things! Oh, you only drink milk and refreshment out of the udders of light!

Ach, ice is around me, my hand burns itself on icy things! Ach, thirst is in me, it yearns after your thirst!

Night it is: Ach that I must be light! And thirst for nocturnal things! And loneliness!

Night it is: Now breaks like a fountain out of me my desire, - it demands speech in me.

Night it is: Now talk louder all flowing wells. And also my soul is a flowing well.

Night it is: Now only awaken all songs of the loving persons. And also my soul is the song of a loving person. -

Thus sang Zarathustra.

The Dance Song

Once a night Zarathustra went with his disciples through the forest; And when he searched for a well, lo and behold, there he came onto a green lawn which was silently surrounded by trees and brush: On her danced girls with one another. As soon as the girls recognized Zarathustra they stopped the dance; But Zarathustra stepped with a friendly gesture to them and spoke those words:

"Don't stop your dance, you lovely girls! No game spoiler came to you with a sinister gaze, no girl-enemy.

God's proponent I am before the devil: He however is the ghost of heaviness. How could I, you light weight persons, be foe to godly dances? Or girl-feet with beautiful ankles?

Certainly I am a forest and a night of dark trees: Yet who does not shy away from my darkness, he also finds rose bushes under my cypresses.

And also the small god he finds certainly, who is the most favored by the girls: Next to the well he lies, silently, with closed eyes.

Indeed, during the bright day he fell asleep, the day thief! Has he yet snatched too much for butterflies?

Don't rage against me, you beautiful dancing persons, when I castigate the little god a bit! Screaming he will be surely and crying, - but laughable he is yet in the crying!

And with tears in his eye shall he ask you for a dance; And I myself want to sing a song for his dance:

"A dance- and mocking song towards the ghost of heaviness, my very highest grand most powerful devil, of whom they say that he was 'the lord of the world'." -

And this is the song which Zarathustra sang when Cupido and the girls danced together.

Into your eye I gazed recently, oh life! And into the unfathomable I seemed to sink.

But you drew me out with a golden fishing pole; Scornfully you laughed when I called you unfathomable.

"Thus goes the speech of all fish", you said; "What _they_ don't discover is unfathomable.

But changeable I am only and wild and in All a woman, and no virtuous one:

Whether I am yet considered 'the depth' to you men or 'the fidelity', 'the eternal', 'the enigmatic'. -

Yet you men endow us always with your own virtues - ach, you virtuous persons!"

Thus she laughed, the incredible person; But I never believe her and her laughter, when she speaks mean about herself.

And as I talked among 4 eyes with my wild wisdom she told me wrathfully: "You want, you desire, you love, for this alone you _praise_ the life!"

Almost had I answered angrily and told the wrathful person the truth; And one can not answer more angrily than when one "tells one's wisdom the truth".

That is namely how it stands between us three. Fundamentally I love only the life - and indeed most of all when I hate it!

But that I am good for the wisdom and often too good: This makes it that she reminds me much of life!

She has her eye, her laughter and even her golden reel: What can I do that those two resemble each other so much?

And when once the life asked me: Who is this then, the wisdom? - There I said eagerly: "Ach yes! The wisdom!"

One thirsts for them and does not become satisfied, one glances through veils, one snatches through nets.

Is she beautiful? What do I know! But the oldest carps (Karpfen) are still being baited through her.

Changeable is she and stubborn; I often saw her bite into her lip and comb her hair backwards.

Maybe she is mean and fake, and in everything a woman's room; But when she speaks bad about herself there in particular she seduces the most."

When I said this to the life there it laughed angrily and closed its eyes. "About whom do you speak?" she said, "certainly of me?

And if you were right, does one say _this_ into my face just like that! But now speak also from your wisdom!"

Ach, and now you opened your eye again, beloved life! And into the ineffible (Unergruendliche) I seemed to sink once again. -

Thus sang Zarathustra. But as the dance was finished and the girls had walked away he became sad.

"The sun has already long descended," he finally said; "The lawn is wet, from the forests comes fresh cool air.

A strangeness engulfs me and glances thoughtfully. What! You are still alive, Zarathustra?

Why? For what? Through what? To where? Where? How? Is it not foolishness to still live? -

Ach, my friends, it is the evening who asks like that out of me. Forgive me my sadness!

Evening it had become: Forgive me that it had become evening!"

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

The Grave Song

"There is the burial island, the silent one; There are also the burials of my youth. Towards there I will carry an evergreen (Kranz) crown of life.

Thus in the heart concluding I drove over the ocean. -

Oh you, my youth' history and appearances! Oh, all you outlooks of love, you godlike moments! How have you died for me so fast!

I revere (gedenke) you today like my deceased ones.

From you, my dearest deceased ones, comes a sweet odor towards me, a heart- and tear solving one. Indeed, he shatters and frees the heart of the lonely sailing person.

Yet I am still the richest and most enviable - I the loneliest! Because I still _had_ you, and you still have me: Tell me, whom fell, like me, such Rose Apples from the tree?

I am still the heir and Earthian wealth to your love, blooming in your memories of colorful wild growing virtues, oh you most beloved!

Ach, we had been made to remain close to one another, you dear strange wonders; And not equal to shy birds you came to me and my desire - no, as trusting to the trusting!

Yes, made into fidelity, equally to me, and into tender eternities: Must I now call you on your infidelity, you godlike glances and moments: No other name I yet learned.

Indeed, too fast you died for me, you refugees. Yet you did not flee from me, neither did I flee from you. Innocent we are towards one another in our infidelity.

In order to kill _me_ one strangled you my singing birds of my hopes! Yes, after you my dearest shot always the meanness arrows - in order to hit my heart!

And she hit me! Were always my dearest, my possession and my obsession: _For this_ you had to die young and way too soon!

After the most vulnerable that I possessed shot one the arrow: That was you whose skin is equal to velvet and more yet the smile which suffocates through a glance!

But this word will I speak to my enemies: What is all this human- murdering compared to that which you did to me!

Worse you did to me than all of human-murder; Irreversible things you took from me: - Thus I speak to you my enemies!

You murder my youth's face and dearest wonders! My play pals you took from me, the blissful ghosts! To their memory I lay this crown (Kranz) and this curse.

This curse against you, my enemies! Did you cut my eternal short, like an (Ton) Earthenware breaks in a cold night! Barely as a blinking of godlike eyes it solely appeared to me, - as a moment!

Thus spoke at the good hour once my purity: "Godlike shall all beings be for me."

There you assaulted me with dirty ghosts; Ach, where did such good hour flee to!

"All days shall be holy to me" - thus spoke once the widsom of my youth: Indeed, the speech of a happy wisdom!

But there you enemies stole my nights and sold them to sleepless agony: Ach, where did such happy wisdom flee to?

Once I yearned towards happy bird signals: There you led an owl-freak across the path, an adverse one. Ach, where fled there my tender desire?

All disgust I promised once to decline: There you transformed my dear ones and fellows into pus bumps. Ach, where fled there my noblest promise?

As a blind person I once walked blissful paths: There you threw unflattering things on to the path of the blind person: And now he was disgusted with the old blind foot-path.

And when I did the hardest and celebrated victory for my overcoming: There you made those who loved me, scream, I hurt them the most.

Indeed, that was always your doing: You ruined my best honey for me and the hard work of my best bees.

To my mildmanneredness you always sent the naughtiest (frech) beggars; Around my compassion you always crowded the unrepairably shameless. Thus you injured my virtue in its belief.

Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Unedited

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Thus Spoke Zarathustra, unedited and unfinished version