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Having discussed criminality, guilt, and rationalization, Zarathustra turns to those who read. Considering you are reading his book, this seems a bold move on Nietzche’s part.
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Of all that is written, I love only what a person has written with his blood. Write with blood, and you will find that blood is spirit. It is no easy task to understand another’s blood. I hate idle readers. He who knows a reader does nothing more for the reader. Another century of readers, and spirit itself will stink.
In the long run, every one allowed to learn to read ruins not only writing but also thinking. Once, spirit was God; then it became man, and now it becomes common.
He who writes in blood and proverbs does not want to be read, but learned by heart. In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but to take that route, you must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those spoken to should be big and tall.
Rare and pure atmosphere, danger nearby, and a spirit full of a joyful wickedness. These things are well matched. I want to have goblins about me, because I am courageous. The courage which scares away ghosts creates for itself goblins. It wants 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. You look to the heavens when you long for exaltation, and I look downward because I am exalted.
Who among you can laugh and at the same time be exalted? He who climbs on the highest mountains, laughs at all tragic plays and tragic realities. Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, and coercive; so wisdom wishes we are; she is a woman, and always loves only a warrior.
“Life is hard to bear,” you tell me.
But why should you have your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening? Life is hard to bear, but do not pretend to be so delicate! We are all of us fine pack horses. What do we have in common with the rose bud, which trembles because a drop of dew has formed upon it?
It is true we love life; not because we are inclined to live, but because we are inclined to love. There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some method in madness.
To me, who appreciates life, butterflies, soap bubbles, and anything that is like them, seem to enjoy happiness most. To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit about moves me to tears and songs.
I would only believe in a God that knew how to dance. When I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound, and solemn. He was the spirit of gravity, and through him all things fell. Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us kill 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 a push in order to move from a spot. Now am I light; now I fly; now I see myself under myself. Now a God dances in me.
So said Zarathustra.
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