Reading and Writing
(1844 - 1900)
sublime one saw I today, a solemn one, a penitent of the
spirit: Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness! (thus
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.
It is no easy task to understand
unfamiliar blood; I hate the reading idlers.
He who knoweth the reader,
doeth nothing more for the reader. Another century of readers-
and spirit itself will stink.
Every one being allowed to
learn to read, ruineth in the long run not only writing but
Once spirit was God, then it
became man, and now it even becometh populace.
He that writeth in blood and
proverbs doth not want to be read, but learnt by heart.
In the mountains the shortest
way is from peak to peak, but for that route thou must have
long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those spoken to should
be big and tall.
The atmosphere rare and pure,
danger near and the spirit full of a joyful wickedness: thus
are things well matched.
I want to have goblins about
me, for I am courageous. The courage which scareth away ghosts,
createth for itself goblins- it wanteth to laugh.
I no longer feel in common
with you; the very cloud which I see beneath me, the blackness
and heaviness at which I laugh- that is your thunder-cloud.
Ye look aloft when ye long
for exaltation; and I look downward because I am exalted.
Who among you can at the same
time laugh and be exalted?
He who climbeth on the highest
mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays and tragic realities.
Courageous, unconcerned, scornful,
coercive- so wisdom wisheth us; she is a woman, and ever loveth
only a warrior.
Ye tell me, "Life is hard
to bear." But for what purpose should ye have your pride
in the morning and your resignation in the evening?
Life is hard to bear: but do
not affect to be so delicate! We are all of us fine sumpter
asses and she-asses.
What have we in common with
the rose-bud, which trembleth because a drop of dew hath formed
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.
And to me also, who appreciate
life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles, and whatever is like
them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.
To see these light, foolish,
pretty, lively little sprites flit about- that moveth Zarathustra
to tears and songs.
I should only believe in a
God that would know how to dance.
And when I saw my devil, I
found him serious, thorough, profound, solemn: he was the
spirit of gravity- through him all things fall.
Not by wrath, but by laughter,
do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit of gravity!
I learned to walk; since then
have I let myself run. I learned to fly; since then I do not
need pushing in order to move from a spot.
Now am I light, now do I fly;
now do I see myself under myself. Now there danceth a God
in me.Thus spake Zarathustra.
qu'on fait n'est jamais compris mais seulement loué ou blâmé.
Nietzsche, Gay Science