Thus Spake Zarathustra (AmazonClassics Edition)

by Friedrich Nietzsche

Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden out of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss!

All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beast than surpass man?

Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a polluted stream without becoming impure.

Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses—and not herds or believers either. Fellow-creators the creator seeketh—those who grave new values on new tables.

And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:—alas! it loveth to fly away!—may my pride then fly with my folly!”

To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: for that, my brethren, there is need of the lion.

is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a game, a self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.

Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holy Yea unto life: its own will, willeth now the spirit; his own world winneth the world’s outcast.

Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesome weariness, and is poppy to the soul. Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled.

That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! And about thee, thou unhappy one!

From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for them. Then they sighed: “O that there were heavenly paths by which to steal into another existence and into happiness!” Then they contrived for themselves their by-paths and bloody draughts!

No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:—create beyond itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.

And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.

I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me may grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.—

Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.

The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.

Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive—so wisdom wisheth us; she is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.

It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we are wont to love.

There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some method in madness.

Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit of gravity!

Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself. Now there danceth a God in me.—

“My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I clamber, the more do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seek on the height?

But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero in thy soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!—

Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties that bring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth.

“Life is only suffering”: so say others, and lie not. Then see to it that ye cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only suffering!

“Pity is necessary,”—so saith a third party. “Take what I have! Take what I am! So much less doth life bind me!”

If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less to the momentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you—nor even for idling!