The Portable Nietzsche (Portable Library)

” O solitude! O my home, solitude! How happily and tenderly your voice speaks to me! We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other, we often walk together through open doors. For where you are, things are open and bright; and the hours too walk on lighter feet here. For in darkness, time weighs more heavily on us than in the light

That the lonely heights should not remain lonely and self-sufficient eternally; that the mountain should descend to the valley and the winds of the height to the low plains—oh,

overcome—that man is a bridge and no end: proclaiming himself blessed in view of his noon and evening, as the way to new dawns—Zarathustra’s word of the great noon, and whatever else I hung up over man like the last crimson light of evening.

Rather spit on the city gate and turn back. Here is hell for a hermit’s thoughts: here great thoughts are boiled alive and cooked till they are small. Here all great feelings decay: only the smallest rattleboned feelings may rattle here.

5 This is the manner of noble souls: they do not want to have anything for nothing; least of all, life. Whoever is of the mob wants to live for nothing; we others, however, to whom life gave itself, we always think about what we might best give in return.

And it spoke to me for the last time: “O Zarathustra, your fruit is ripe, but you are not ripe for your fruit. Thus you must return to your

curse”—this bright doctrine fell to me from a bright heaven; this star stands in my heaven even in black nights.

8 Out of life’s school of war: What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.

Zarathustra, however, spoke these words: Up, abysmal thought, out of my depth! I am your cock and dawn, sleepy worm. Up! Up! My voice shall yet crow you awake! Unfasten the fetters of your ears: listen! For I want to hear you. Up! Up! Here is thunder enough to make even tombs learn to listen. And wipe sleep and all that is purblind and blind out of