Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book for All and None

By Friedrich Nietzsche

Page 148

thereby want to be man's accuser? Ah, mine animals,
this only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddest is necessary
for his best,--

--That all that is baddest is the best POWER, and the hardest stone for
the highest creator; and that man must become better AND badder:--

Not to THIS torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,--but I
cried, as no one hath yet cried:

"Ah, that his baddest is so very small! Ah, that his best is so very

The great disgust at man--IT strangled me and had crept into my throat:
and what the soothsayer had presaged: "All is alike, nothing is worth
while, knowledge strangleth."

A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatally
intoxicated sadness, which spake with yawning mouth.

"Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the small
man"--so yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go to

A cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in; everything
living became to me human dust and bones and mouldering past.

My sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise: my
sighing and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged day
and night:

--"Ah, man returneth eternally! The small man returneth eternally!"

Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and the smallest
man: all too like one another--all too human, even the greatest man!

All too small, even the greatest man!--that was my disgust at man! And
the eternal return also of the smallest man!--that was my disgust at all

Ah, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust!--Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighed and
shuddered; for he remembered his sickness. Then did his animals prevent
him from speaking further.

"Do not speak further, thou convalescent!"--so answered his animals,
"but go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden.

Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves! Especially,
however, unto the singing-birds, to learn SINGING from them!

For singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk. And
when the sound also want songs, then want they other songs than the

--"O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!" answered Zarathustra, and
smiled at his animals. "How well ye know what consolation I devised for
myself in seven days!

That I have to sing once more--THAT consolation did I devise for myself,
and THIS convalescence: would ye also make another lyre-lay thereof?"

--"Do not talk further," answered his animals once more; "rather, thou
convalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!

For behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays there

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Text Comparison with Human, All-Too-Human: A Book for Free Spirits, Part 1 Complete Works, Volume Six

Page 7
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Page 19
At the bottom of all belief lies.
Page 21
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Zeus did not wish man, however much he might be tormented by the other evils, to fling away his life, but to go on letting himself be tormented again and again.
Page 52
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Page 54
of his relations with other men, man obtains a new species of _pleasure_ in addition to those pleasurable sensations which he derives from himself; whereby he greatly increases the scope of enjoyment.
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Page 121
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Page 131
At the same time it has actually been fatal to Greek culture, for Homer levelled, inasmuch as he centralised, and dissolved the more serious instincts of independence.
Page 136
The Epicurean has the same point of view as the cynic; there is usually only a difference of temperament between them.
Page 163
--The free spirit will always feel relieved when he has finally resolved to shake off the motherly care and guardianship with which women surround him.
Page 166
The point of view of the division of happiness is not essential when it is a question of the production of a higher culture; in any case, however, the leisured caste is more susceptible to suffering and suffer more, their pleasure in existence is less and their task is greater.
Page 175
The destiny of mankind is arranged for _happy moments_--every life has such--but not for happy times.
Page 179
--Socialism is the fantastic younger brother of almost decrepit despotism, which it wants to succeed; its efforts are, therefore, in the deepest sense reactionary.
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Page 209
Do I well, we're mute and humble; Do I ill--we'll laugh exceeding; Make it worse and worse, unheeding, Worse proceeding, more laughs needing, Till into the grave we stumble.