Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book for All and None

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 119

even two of them;
also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there
at night.

A hard guest is he,--but I honour him, and do not worship, like the
tenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol.

Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!--so willeth
my nature. And especially have I a grudge against all ardent, steaming,
steamy fire-idols.

Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I
now mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my
house.

Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed--: there, still laugheth
and wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth.

I, a--creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and if
ever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in my
winter-bed.

A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my
poverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me.

With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a cold
bath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate.

Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let
the heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight.

For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the
pail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:--

Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me,
the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the white-head,--

--The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its
sun!

Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it
from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself?

Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,--all good roguish
things spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so--for
once only!

A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the
winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:--

--Like it to stifle one's sun, and one's inflexible solar will: verily,
this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!

My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not
to betray itself by silence.

Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: all
those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude.

That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate
will--for that purpose did I devise the long clear silence.

Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his
water muddy, that no one might

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Text Comparison with Dityrambeja

Page 0
Alla uhkuvi elämä, puhkeavi puihin pihka, sihisevi mannun mahla, tuulet ilman tuoksutäydet.
Page 1
On onnenne käskyä ankarien kuulla.
Page 2
Pyhä Rooma on herjattu, curian ovet aukeevat käskystä joukkion joudon, ikuinen istuin lakien, tuomion tahrattu ompi, nöyränä taipuu senaatti tahtohon huutavan heimon.
Page 3
Terve Caesar, sallimuksen valtakannel kaikuu, terve, terve Caesar! Terve Caesar, taiston teräskellot kutsuu kuolon purppuraiseen juhlaan meitä, terve Caesar, terve valtias, nyt arpa lankee, terve, joukkosi on tuonen tuttu, terve, tuhannesti terve, suuri Caesar! Terve Caesar! Elo kypsynyt on leikkaajalleen, vilja tuleentunut viikatteelle, terve Caesar, raskaat, täyteläiset tähkät nuokkuu vuottain sirppiäsi, jonka terä kultasalamana kaikkeen iskee, mikä valmiina on vainiollaan, terve Caesar, terve elojuhlija, min kenttä maasta maahan, merten yli yltää, terve Caesar, ikuinen on elonkorjuuaikas! Terve Caesar, kohtalosta kohtalohon johtaa olemuksen ikivoima meitä niinkuin tulenpatsas korven yössä, tuhatkimaltava taivaankaari kangastusten etäisestä maasta.
Page 4
Imperaattori surmattu! Tyhjä on maineen kultainen istuin, tahrattu verin on ikuinen Rooma, verin, min jälkiä puhtaaksi pese koskaan ei aika, ei umpehen painu milloinkaan haavat, jotka on iskenyt alhainen vietti alhaisten henkien, alhaisen koston.
Page 5
Hän saapuvi, valtansa rastivi radan ihmisten kulkea kunne hän tahtoo, hän mennehen valtaa, hän tulevan luopi, hän ohjaa suuret ja pienet virrat, hän kutoo kohtalon välkkyvät vaipat, hän, kansojen käskijä, ihmisten herra, mi synkkänä pilvenä vuorilla viipyy.
Page 6
Paahtoi polttaen ylläni päivä: terve, te äkkiä tulevat tuulet, terve, te iltaiset viileät henget! Humisee oudon raikkaana ilma.