Thus Spake Zarathustra — Friedrich Nietzsche

Thus Spake Zarathustra

Friedrich Nietzsche · الترخيص: Public domain · المصدر

• And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people: ¶237
• It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ of his highest hope. ¶238
• Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow thereon. ¶239
• Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of his longing beyond man--and the string of his bow will have unlearned to whizz! ¶240
• I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you. ¶241
• Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no longer despise himself. ¶242
• "What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?"--so asketh the last man and blinketh. ¶244
• The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man who maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of the ground-flea; the last man liveth longest. ¶245
• "We have discovered happiness"--say the last men, and blink thereby. ¶246
• They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need warmth. One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him; for one needeth warmth. ¶247
• Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk warily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men! ¶248
• A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And much poison at last for a pleasant death. ¶249
• One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the pastime should hurt one. ¶250
• One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome. ¶251
• No shepherd, and one herd! Every one wanteth the same; every one is equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse. ¶252
• "Formerly all the world was insane,"--say the subtlest of them, and blink thereby. ¶253
• They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is no end to their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon reconciled--otherwise it spoileth their stomachs. ¶254
• They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures for the night, but they have a regard for health. ¶255
• "We have discovered happiness,"--say the last men, and blink thereby.-- ¶256
• "They understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears. ¶258
• Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I hearkened unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as unto the goatherds. ¶259
• Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests. ¶260
• And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me too. There is ice in their laughter." ¶261
• "On mine honour, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is nothing of all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul will be dead even sooner than thy body: fear, therefore, nothing any more!" ¶265
• The man looked up distrustfully. "If thou speakest the truth," said he, "I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal which hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare." ¶266
• "Not at all," said Zarathustra, "thou hast made danger thy calling; therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy calling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands." ¶267
• When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude. ¶268
• Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is not a man he hath caught, but a corpse. ¶271
• Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may be fateful to it. ¶272
• I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman, the lightning out of the dark cloud--man. ¶273
• But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their sense. To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse. ¶274
• Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, thou cold and stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shall bury thee with mine own hands. ¶275
• Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way. When he had gone on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too much of the hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became a-hungry. So he halted at a lonely house in which a light was burning. ¶279
• "Hunger attacketh me," said Zarathustra, "like a robber. Among forests and swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night. ¶280
• "Strange humours hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only after a repast, and all day it hath failed to come: where hath it been?" ¶281
• And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man appeared, who carried a light, and asked: "Who cometh unto me and my bad sleep?" ¶282
• "A living man and a dead one," said Zarathustra. "Give me something to eat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He that feedeth the hungry refresheth his own soul, saith wisdom." ¶283
• A light hath dawned upon me: I need companions--living ones; not dead companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will. ¶288
• But I need living companions, who will follow me because they want to follow themselves--and to the place where I will. ¶289
• A light hath dawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak, but to companions! Zarathustra shall not be the herd's herdsman and hound! ¶290

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