Thus Spake Zarathustra — Friedrich Nietzsche

Thus Spake Zarathustra

Friedrich Nietzsche · Licence: Public domain · Source

• Is not wounded vanity the mother of all tragedies? Where, however, pride is wounded, there there groweth up something better than pride. ¶1835
• That life may be fair to behold, its game must be well played; for that purpose, however, it needeth good actors. ¶1836
• Good actors have I found all the vain ones: they play, and wish people to be fond of beholding them--all their spirit is in this wish. ¶1837
• They represent themselves, they invent themselves; in their neighbourhood I like to look upon life--it cureth of melancholy. ¶1838
• Therefore am I forbearing to the vain, because they are the physicians of my melancholy, and keep me attached to man as to a drama. ¶1839
• And further, who conceiveth the full depth of the modesty of the vain man! I am favourable to him, and sympathetic on account of his modesty. ¶1840
• From you would he learn his belief in himself; he feedeth upon your glances, he eateth praise out of your hands. ¶1841
• Your lies doth he even believe when you lie favourably about him: for in its depths sigheth his heart: "What am _I_?" ¶1842
• And if that be the true virtue which is unconscious of itself--well, the vain man is unconscious of his modesty!-- ¶1843
• This is, however, my third manly prudence: I am not put out of conceit with the WICKED by your timorousness. ¶1844
• I am happy to see the marvels the warm sun hatcheth: tigers and palms and rattle-snakes. ¶1845
• Also amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, and much that is marvellous in the wicked. ¶1846
• In truth, as your wisest did not seem to me so very wise, so found I also human wickedness below the fame of it. ¶1847
• And oft did I ask with a shake of the head: Why still rattle, ye rattle-snakes? ¶1848
• Verily, there is still a future even for evil! And the warmest south is still undiscovered by man. ¶1849
• How many things are now called the worst wickedness, which are only twelve feet broad and three months long! Some day, however, will greater dragons come into the world. ¶1850
• For that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the superdragon that is worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moist virgin forests! ¶1851
• Out of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of your poison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt! ¶1852
• And verily, ye good and just! In you there is much to be laughed at, and especially your fear of what hath hitherto been called "the devil!" ¶1853
• So alien are ye in your souls to what is great, that to you the Superman would be FRIGHTFUL in his goodness! ¶1854
• And ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness! ¶1855
• Ye highest men who have come within my ken! this is my doubt of you, and my secret laughter: I suspect ye would call my Superman--a devil! ¶1856
• Ah, I became tired of those highest and best ones: from their "height" did I long to be up, out, and away to the Superman! ¶1857
• A horror came over me when I saw those best ones naked: then there grew for me the pinions to soar away into distant futures. ¶1858
• Into more distant futures, into more southern souths than ever artist dreamed of: thither, where Gods are ashamed of all clothes! ¶1859
• But disguised do I want to see YOU, ye neighbours and fellowmen, and well-attired and vain and estimable, as "the good and just;"-- ¶1860
• And disguised will I myself sit amongst you--that I may MISTAKE you and myself: for that is my last manly prudence.-- ¶1861
• What hath happened unto me, my friends? Ye see me troubled, driven forth, unwillingly obedient, ready to go--alas, to go away from YOU! ¶1864
• Yea, once more must Zarathustra retire to his solitude: but unjoyously this time doth the bear go back to his cave! ¶1865
• What hath happened unto me? Who ordereth this?--Ah, mine angry mistress wisheth it so; she spake unto me. Have I ever named her name to you? ¶1866
• Yesterday towards evening there spake unto me MY STILLEST HOUR: that is the name of my terrible mistress. ¶1867
• And thus did it happen--for everything must I tell you, that your heart may not harden against the suddenly departing one! ¶1868
• Do ye know the terror of him who falleth asleep?-- ¶1869
• To the very toes he is terrified, because the ground giveth way under him, and the dream beginneth. ¶1870
• This do I speak unto you in parable. Yesterday at the stillest hour did the ground give way under me: the dream began. ¶1871
• The hour-hand moved on, the timepiece of my life drew breath--never did I hear such stillness around me, so that my heart was terrified. ¶1872
• Then was there spoken unto me without voice: "THOU KNOWEST IT, ZARATHUSTRA?"-- ¶1873
• And I cried in terror at this whispering, and the blood left my face: but I was silent. ¶1874
• Then was there once more spoken unto me without voice: "Thou knowest it, Zarathustra, but thou dost not speak it!"-- ¶1875
• And at last I answered, like one defiant: "Yea, I know it, but I will not speak it!" ¶1876

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