Thus Spake Zarathustra — Friedrich Nietzsche

Thus Spake Zarathustra

Friedrich Nietzsche · Лицензия: Public domain · Источник

• --The hour approacheth: O man, thou higher man, take heed! this talk is for fine ears, for thine ears--WHAT SAITH DEEP MIDNIGHT'S VOICE INDEED? ¶3755
• It carrieth me away, my soul danceth. Day's-work! Day's-work! Who is to be master of the world? ¶3757
• The moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah! Have ye already flown high enough? Ye have danced: a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing. ¶3758
• Ye good dancers, now is all delight over: wine hath become lees, every cup hath become brittle, the sepulchres mutter. ¶3759
• Ye have not flown high enough: now do the sepulchres mutter: "Free the dead! Why is it so long night? Doth not the moon make us drunken?" ¶3760
• Ye higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the corpses! Ah, why doth the worm still burrow? There approacheth, there approacheth, the hour,-- ¶3761
• --There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth still the heart, there burroweth still the wood-worm, the heart-worm. Ah! Ah! THE WORLD IS DEEP! ¶3762
• Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love thy tone, thy drunken, ranunculine tone!--how long, how far hath come unto me thy tone, from the distance, from the ponds of love! ¶3764
• Thou old clock-bell, thou sweet lyre! Every pain hath torn thy heart, father-pain, fathers'-pain, forefathers'-pain; thy speech hath become ripe,-- ¶3765
• --Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like mine anchorite heart--now sayest thou: The world itself hath become ripe, the grape turneth brown, ¶3766
• --Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness. Ye higher men, do ye not feel it? There welleth up mysteriously an odour, ¶3767
• --A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed, brown, gold-wine-odour of old happiness, ¶3768
• --Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which singeth: the world is deep, AND DEEPER THAN THE DAY COULD READ! ¶3769
• Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I am too pure for thee. Touch me not! Hath not my world just now become perfect? ¶3771
• My skin is too pure for thy hands. Leave me alone, thou dull, doltish, stupid day! Is not the midnight brighter? ¶3772
• The purest are to be masters of the world, the least known, the strongest, the midnight-souls, who are brighter and deeper than any day. ¶3773
• O day, thou gropest for me? Thou feelest for my happiness? For thee am I rich, lonesome, a treasure-pit, a gold chamber? ¶3774
• O world, thou wantest ME? Am I worldly for thee? Am I spiritual for thee? Am I divine for thee? But day and world, ye are too coarse,-- ¶3775
• --Have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happiness, after deeper unhappiness, grasp after some God; grasp not after me: ¶3776
• --Mine unhappiness, my happiness is deep, thou strange day, but yet am I no God, no God's-hell: DEEP IS ITS WOE. ¶3777
• God's woe is deeper, thou strange world! Grasp at God's woe, not at me! What am I! A drunken sweet lyre,-- ¶3779
• --A midnight-lyre, a bell-frog, which no one understandeth, but which MUST speak before deaf ones, ye higher men! For ye do not understand me! ¶3780
• Gone! Gone! O youth! O noontide! O afternoon! Now have come evening and night and midnight,--the dog howleth, the wind: ¶3781
• --Is the wind not a dog? It whineth, it barketh, it howleth. Ah! Ah! how she sigheth! how she laugheth, how she wheezeth and panteth, the midnight! ¶3782
• How she just now speaketh soberly, this drunken poetess! hath she perhaps overdrunk her drunkenness? hath she become overawake? doth she ruminate? ¶3783
• --Her woe doth she ruminate over, in a dream, the old, deep midnight--and still more her joy. For joy, although woe be deep, JOY IS DEEPER STILL THAN GRIEF CAN BE. ¶3784
• Thou grape-vine! Why dost thou praise me? Have I not cut thee! I am cruel, thou bleedest--: what meaneth thy praise of my drunken cruelty? ¶3786
• "Whatever hath become perfect, everything mature--wanteth to die!" so sayest thou. Blessed, blessed be the vintner's knife! But everything immature wanteth to live: alas! ¶3787
• Woe saith: "Hence! Go! Away, thou woe!" But everything that suffereth wanteth to live, that it may become mature and lively and longing, ¶3788
• --Longing for the further, the higher, the brighter. "I want heirs," so saith everything that suffereth, "I want children, I do not want MYSELF,"-- ¶3789
• Joy, however, doth not want heirs, it doth not want children,--joy wanteth itself, it wanteth eternity, it wanteth recurrence, it wanteth everything eternally-like-itself. ¶3790
• Woe saith: "Break, bleed, thou heart! Wander, thou leg! Thou wing, fly! Onward! upward! thou pain!" Well! Cheer up! O mine old heart: WOE SAITH: "HENCE! GO!" ¶3791
• Ye higher men, what think ye? Am I a soothsayer? Or a dreamer? Or a drunkard? Or a dream-reader? Or a midnight-bell? ¶3793
• Or a drop of dew? Or a fume and fragrance of eternity? Hear ye it not? Smell ye it not? Just now hath my world become perfect, midnight is also mid-day,-- ¶3794
• Pain is also a joy, curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun,--go away! or ye will learn that a sage is also a fool. ¶3795
• Said ye ever Yea to one joy? O my friends, then said ye Yea also unto ALL woe. All things are enlinked, enlaced and enamoured,-- ¶3796
• --Wanted ye ever once to come twice; said ye ever: "Thou pleasest me, happiness! Instant! Moment!" then wanted ye ALL to come back again! ¶3797
• --All anew, all eternal, all enlinked, enlaced and enamoured, Oh, then did ye LOVE the world,-- ¶3798
• --Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all time: and also unto woe do ye say: Hence! Go! but come back! FOR JOYS ALL WANT--ETERNITY! ¶3799
• All joy wanteth the eternity of all things, it wanteth honey, it wanteth lees, it wanteth drunken midnight, it wanteth graves, it wanteth grave-tears' consolation, it wanteth gilded evening-red-- ¶3801

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