“O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, I am not great, why do I dissemble! But thou knowest it well—I sought for greatness! “A great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hath been beyond my power. On it do I collapse. “O Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse—this my collapsing is genuine!”— “It honoureth thee,” said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down with sidelong glance, “it honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness, but it betrayeth thee also. Thou art not great.
