Ainsi Parlait Zarathoustra

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 39

nombre, toi l'unique: aujourd'hui
encore tu as tout ton courage et toutes tes espérances.

Pourtant ta solitude te fatiguera un jour, ta fierté se courbera et ton
courage grincera des dents. Tu crieras un jour: "Je suis seul!"

Un jour tu ne verras plus ta hauteur, et ta bassesse sera trop près de
toi. Ton sublime même te fera peur comme un fantôme. Tu crieras un
jour: "Tout est faux!"

Il y a des sentiments qui veulent tuer le solitaire; s'ils n'y
parviennent point, il leur faudra périr eux-mêmes! Mais es-tu capable
d'être assassin?

Mon frère, connais-tu déjà le mot "mépris"? Et la souffrance de ta
justice qui te force à être juste envers ceux qui te méprisent?

Tu obliges beaucoup de gens à changer d'avis sur toi; voilà pourquoi
ils t'en voudront toujours. Tu t'es approché d'eux et tu as passé:
c'est ce qu'ils ne te pardonneront jamais.

Tu les dépasses: mais plus tu t'élèves, plus tu parais petit aux yeux
des envieux. Mais celui qui plane dans les airs est celui que l'on
déteste le plus.

"Comment sauriez-vous être justes envers moi! - c'est ainsi qu'il te
faut parler - je choisis pour moi votre injustice, comme la part qui
m'est due."

Injustice et ordures, voilà ce qu'ils jettent après le solitaire:
pourtant, mon frère, si tu veux être une étoile, il faut que tu les
éclaires malgré tout!

Et garde-toi des bons et des justes! Ils aiment à crucifier ceux qui
s'inventent leur propre vertu, - ils haïssent le solitaire.

Garde-toi aussi de la sainte simplicité! Tout ce qui n'est pas simple
lui est impie; elle aime aussi à jouer avec le feu - des bûchers.

Et garde-toi des accès de ton amour! Trop vite le solitaire tend la
main à celui qu'il rencontre.

Il y a des hommes à qui tu ne dois pas donner la main, mais seulement
la patte: et je veux que ta patte ait aussi des griffes.

Mais le plus dangereux ennemis que tu puisses rencontrer sera toujours
toi-même; c'est toi-même que tu guettes dans les cavernes et les forêts.

Solitaire, tu suis le chemin qui mène à toi-même! Et ton chemin passe
devant toi-même et devant tes sept démons?

Tu seras hérétique envers toi-même, sorcier et devin, fou et incrédule,
impie et méchant.

Il faut que tu veuilles te brûler dans ta propre flamme: comment
voudrais-tu te renouveler sans t'être d'abord réduit en cendres!

Solitaire, tu suis le chemin du créateur: tu veux te créer un dieu de
tes sept démons!

Solitaire, tu suis le chemin de l'amant: tu t'aimes toi-même, c'est

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Text Comparison with The Joyful Wisdom

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Now comes the test! Keep cool—eyes bright and clear! Thou'rt lost for sure, if thou permittest—fear.
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I wish people also to submit to my fancies, and to take it quite as a simple matter, if I should indulge in this or that diversion.
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The more ingenious seducers on that account operate by holding out the prospect of an explosion to such persons, and do not urge their cause by means of reasons; these powder-barrels are not won over by means of reasons! .
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_—The alteration of the general taste is more important than the alteration of opinions; opinions, with all their proving, refuting, and intellectual masquerade, are merely symptoms of altered taste, and are certainly _not_ what they are still so often claimed to be, the causes of the altered taste.
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The generation _that followed_, trained in suppressing their expression, no longer possessed the passions themselves, but had a pleasant, superficial, playful disposition in their place,—a generation which was so permeated with the incapacity to be ill-mannered, that even an injury was not taken and retaliated, except with courteous words.
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_—It is not unknown to me that there is vulgarity in everything that pleases Southern Europe—whether it be Italian opera (for example, Rossini's and Bellini's), or the Spanish adventure-romance (most readily accessible to us in the French garb of Gil Blas)—but it does not offend me, any more than the vulgarity which one encounters in a walk through Pompeii, or even in the reading of every ancient book: what is the reason of this? Is it because shame is lacking here, and because the vulgar always comes forward just as sure and certain of itself as anything noble, lovely,.
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" Freedom of.
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_—The best thing in a great victory is that it deprives the conqueror of the fear of defeat.
Page 169
This composition of ours is continually learnt, practised, and translated into flesh and actuality, and even into the commonplace, by the so-called practical men (our actors, as we have said).
Page 172
When we make use of criticism it is not something arbitrary and impersonal,—it is, at least very often, a proof that there are lively, active forces in us, which cast a skin.
Page 178
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_—No! Life has not deceived me! On the contrary, from year to year I find it richer, more desirable and more mysterious—from the day on which the great liberator broke my fetters, the thought that life may be an experiment of the thinker—and not a duty, not a fatality, not a deceit!—And knowledge itself may be for others something different; for example, a bed of ease, or the path to a bed of ease, or an entertainment, or a course of idling,—for me it is a world of dangers and victories, in which even the heroic sentiments have their arena and dancing-floor.
Page 190
—How is it at all possible for a person to keep to _his_ path! Some cry or other is continually calling one aside: our eye then rarely lights on anything without it becoming necessary for us to leave for a moment our own affairs and rush to give assistance.
Page 202
For in fact fanaticism is the sole "volitional strength" to which the weak and irresolute can be excited, as a sort of hypnotising of the entire sensory-intellectual system, in favour of the over-abundant nutrition (hypertrophy) of a particular point of view and a particular sentiment, which then dominates—the Christian calls it his _faith_.
Page 225
Page 234
_—It follows from the laws of class distinction that the learned, in so far as they belong to the intellectual middle-class, are debarred from getting even a sight of the really _great_ problems and notes of.
Page 237
_—It is thus that artists feel, and all men of "works," the maternal species of men: they always believe at every chapter of their life—a work always makes a chapter—that they have already reached the goal itself; they would always patiently accept death with the feeling: "we are ripe for it.
Page 260
New things on new the world unfolds me, Time, space with noonday die: Alone thy monstrous eye beholds me, Awful Infinity! SILS-MARIA.