But like infection is the petty thought: it creeps and hides, and wants to be nowhere--until the whole body is decayed and withered by the petty infection... Thus spoke Zarathustra.
How COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it accidents, and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling snowflakes!
Some cannot loosen their own chains and can nonetheless redeem their friends.
But strangers and the poor may pluck for themselves the fruit from my tree: that causes less shame. But beggars should be entirely done away with! Truly, it annoys one to give to them and it annoys one not to give to them.
I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me.
But the thought is one thing, the deed is another, and another yet is the image of the deed. The wheel of causality does not roll between them.
I change too quickly: my today refutes my yesterday. When I ascend I often jump over steps, and no step forgives me that.
The happiness of man is: I will. The happiness of woman is: he wills. æBehold, just now the world became perfect!Æùthus thinks every woman when she obeys out of entire love. And women must obey and find a depth for her surface. Surface is the disposition of woman: a mobile, stormy film over shallow water. ManÆs disposition, however, is deep; his river roars in subterranean caves: woman feels his strength but does not comprehend it.
But the worst enemy you can meet will always be yourself; you lie in wait for yourself in caverns and forests. Lonely one, you are going the way to yourself! And your way goes past yourself, and past your seven devils! You will be a heretic to yourself and witch and soothsayer and fool and doubter and unholy one and villain. You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame: how could you become new, if you had not first become ashes?
I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they are the over-goers.
The higher we soar the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly.
Close beside my knowledge lies my black ignorance.
I love those who do not know how to live, except by going under, for they are those who cross over.
The spirit now wills his own will, and he who had been lost to the world now conquers the world.
A little wisdom is indeed possible; but this blessed security have I found in all things, that they prefer--to DANCE on the feet of chance.
Creatingùthat is the great salvation from suffering, and life's alleviation. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed, and much transformation.
I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.
There is more reason in your body than in your best wisdom.
Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human madness, like all the Gods!
Dead are all gods: now we want the overman to live.
I want to speak to the despisers of the body. I would not have them learn and teach differently, but merely say farewell to their own bodies-- and thus become silent.
Untroubled, scornful, outrageous - that is how wisdom wants us to be: she is a woman and never loves anyone but a warrior.
Alas, where is there still a sea in which one could drown: thus our lament resounds û across shallow swamps.
Disobedience- that is the nobility of slaves.
I would only believe in a god who could dance. And when I saw my devil I found him serious, thorough, profound, and solemn: it was the spirit of gravityùthrough him all things fall. Not by wrath does one kill but by laughter. Come, let us kill the spirit of gravity!
All beings so far have created something beyond themselves; and do you want to be the ebb of this great flood and even go back to the beasts rather than overcome man? What is the ape to man? A laughingstock or a painful embarrassment. And man shall be just that for the overman: a laughingstock or a painful embarrassmentà
Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it is still too youngùso have patience with it!
It is the evening that questions thus from within me.
Weariness that wants to reach the ultimate with one leap, with one fatal leap, a poor ignorant weariness that does not want to want any more: this created all gods and afterworlds.
And many such good inventions are there, that they are like womanÆs breasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant.
For ten years you have climbed here to my cave: you would have become weary of shining and of the journey, had it not been for me, my eagle, and my serpent.
It was the sick and decaying who despised the body and earth and invented the heavenly realm and the redemptive drops of blood: but they took even these sweet and gloomy poisons from body and earth. They wanted to escape their own misery, and the stars were too far for them.
What have we in common with the rosebud, which trembles because a drop of dew is lying upon it?
And must I not conceal myself like one who has swallowed gold- lest my soul should be ripped up?
Go your ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!- gloomy ways, verily, on which not a single hope glints any more!
Man is something that shall be overcome.... Man is a rope, tied between beast and overman -- a rope over an abyss... What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end.
When your heart overfloweth broad and full like the river, a blessing and a danger to the lowlanders: there is the origin of your virtue.
And once you are awake, you shall remain awake eternally.
Good and evil, and joy and pain, and I and you- colored vapors did they seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away from himself,- and so he created the world.
No shepherd and one herd! Everybody wants the same, everybody is the same: whoever feels different goes voluntarily into a madhouse.
Whoever extolls him as a God of love, does not think highly enough of love itself.
And when he invented his hell, that was his heaven on earth.
He who climbs upon the highest mountains laughs at all tragedies, real or imaginary.
Of all that is written I love only what a man has written in his own blood.
Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: ye must be proud of your foes.
Behold! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that has gathered too much honey; I need hands outstretched to take it from me. I wish to spread it and bestow it, until the wise have once more become joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.
He who is a firstling is ever sacrificed.
Oh great star! What would your happiness be if you did not have us to shine for?
More Friedrich Nietzsche Quotations (Based on Topics)
Man - Truth - Life - God - Woman - Love - Wisdom & Knowledge - Friendship - Art - World - Mind - Nature - Time - Power - Reasoning - Facts - Dancing - Necessity - Vice & Virtue - View All Friedrich Nietzsche Quotations
More Friedrich Nietzsche Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Karl Popper - Francis Bacon - Thomas Carlyle - Theodor Adorno - Protagoras - Plotinus - Mohammad Khatami - Friedrich von Schelling - Epicurus - Diogenes