Thus Spake Zarathustra Friedrich Nietzsche (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📖

is good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek thereafter!”

And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest harm!

And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest harm!

O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked someone once on a time, who said: “They are the Pharisees.” But people did not understand him.

The good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their spirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of the good is unfathomably wise.

It is the truth, however, that the good must be Pharisees⁠—they have no choice!

The good must crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That is the truth!

The second one, however, who discovered their country⁠—the country, heart and soil of the good and just⁠—it was he who asked: “Whom do they hate most?”

The creator, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old values, the breaker⁠—him they call the lawbreaker.

For the good⁠—they cannot create; they are always the beginning of the end:⁠—

—They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they sacrifice unto themselves the future⁠—they crucify the whole human future!

The good⁠—they have always been the beginning of the end.⁠—

XXVII

O my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I once said of the “last man”?⁠⸺

With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not with the good and just?

Break up, break up, I pray you, the good and just!⁠—O my brethren, have ye understood also this word?

XXVIII

Ye flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word?

O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the tables of the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.

And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook, the great sickness, the great nausea, the great seasickness.

False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the lies of the good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radically contorted and distorted by the good.

But he who discovered the country of “man,” discovered also the country of “man’s future.” Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave, patient!

Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves up! The sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you.

The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old seaman-hearts!

What of fatherland! Thither striveth our helm where our children’s land is! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great longing!⁠—

XXIX

“Why so hard!”⁠—said to the diamond one day the charcoal; “are we then not near relatives?”⁠—

Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do I ask you: are ye then not⁠—my brethren?

Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your looks?

And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day⁠—conquer with me?

And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can ye one day⁠—create with me?

For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to press your hand upon millenniums as upon wax⁠—

—Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon brass⁠—harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the noblest.

This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: Become hard!⁠—

XXX

O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, my needfulness! Preserve me from all small victories!

Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me! Preserve and spare me for one great fate!

And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last⁠—that thou mayest be inexorable in thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to his victory!

Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah, whose foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory⁠—how to stand!⁠—

—That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noontide: ready and ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud, and the swelling milk-udder:⁠—

—Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its arrow, an arrow eager for its star:⁠—

—A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed, by annihilating sun-arrows:⁠—

—A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in victory!

O Will, thou change of every need, my needfulness! Spare me for one great victory!⁠⸺

Thus spake Zarathustra.

LVII The Convalescent I

One morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustra sprang up from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice, and acting as if someone still lay on the couch who did not wish to rise. Zarathustra’s voice also resounded in such a manner that his animals came to him frightened, and out of all the neighbouring caves and lurking-places all the creatures slipped away⁠—flying, fluttering, creeping or leaping, according to their variety of foot or wing. Zarathustra, however, spake these words:

Up, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy cock and morning dawn, thou overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall soon crow thee awake!

Unbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear thee! Up! Up! There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen!

And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thine eyes! Hear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medicine even for those born blind.

And once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake. It is not my custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid them⁠—sleep on!

Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up! Up! Not wheeze, shalt thou⁠—but speak unto me! Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the godless!

I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering, the advocate of the circuit⁠—thee do I call, my most abysmal thought!

Joy to me! Thou comest⁠—I hear