Thus Spake Zarathustra — Friedrich Nietzsche

Thus Spake Zarathustra

Friedrich Nietzsche · Άδεια: Public domain · Πηγή

• Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But that hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Yea! the cowardly are wise! ¶678
• They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls--thou art always suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is at last thought suspicious. ¶679
• They punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in their inmost hearts only--for thine errors. ¶680
• Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest: "Blameless are they for their small existence." But their circumscribed souls think: "Blamable is all great existence." ¶681
• Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves despised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret maleficence. ¶682
• Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once thou be humble enough to be frivolous. ¶683
• What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on your guard against the small ones! ¶684
• In thy presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleameth and gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance. ¶685
• Sawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedst them, and how their energy left them like the smoke of an extinguishing fire? ¶686
• Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for they are unworthy of thee. Therefore they hate thee, and would fain suck thy blood. ¶687
• Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in thee--that itself must make them more poisonous, and always more fly-like. ¶688
• Flee, my friend, into thy solitude--and thither, where a rough strong breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.-- ¶689
• I love the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are too many of the lustful. ¶692
• Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer, than into the dreams of a lustful woman? ¶693
• And just look at these men: their eye saith it--they know nothing better on earth than to lie with a woman. ¶694
• Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hath still spirit in it! ¶695
• Would that ye were perfect--at least as animals! But to animals belongeth innocence. ¶696
• Do I counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel you to innocence in your instincts. ¶697
• Do I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but with many almost a vice. ¶698
• These are continent, to be sure: but doggish lust looketh enviously out of all that they do. ¶699
• Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit doth this creature follow them, with its discord. ¶700
• And how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece of flesh is denied it! ¶701
• Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart? But I am distrustful of your doggish lust. ¶702
• Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers. Hath not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of fellow-suffering? ¶703
• And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast out their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves. ¶704
• To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become the road to hell--to filth and lust of soul. ¶705
• Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to do. ¶706
• Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the discerning one go unwillingly into its waters. ¶707
• Verily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they are gentler of heart, and laugh better and oftener than you. ¶708
• They laugh also at chastity, and ask: "What is chastity? ¶709
• Is chastity not folly? But the folly came unto us, and not we unto it. ¶710
• We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us--let it stay as long as it will!"-- ¶711
• "One, is always too many about me"--thinketh the anchorite. "Always once one--that maketh two in the long run!" ¶714
• I and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be endured, if there were not a friend? ¶715
• The friend of the anchorite is always the third one: the third one is the cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinking into the depth. ¶716
• Ah! there are too many depths for all anchorites. Therefore, do they long so much for a friend, and for his elevation. ¶717
• Our faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer. ¶718
• And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And often we attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable. ¶719
• "Be at least mine enemy!"--thus speaketh the true reverence, which doth not venture to solicit friendship. ¶720
• If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war for him: and in order to wage war, one must be CAPABLE of being an enemy. ¶721

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