And when I call out: “Curse all the cowardly devils in you, that would fain whimper and fold the hands and adore”—then do they shout: “Zarathustra is godless.” And especially do their teachers of submission shout this;—but precisely in their ears do I love to cry: “Yea! I am Zarathustra, the godless!” Those teachers of submission! Wherever there is aught puny, or sickly, or scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only my disgust preventeth me from cracking them.
