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Whenever I can access it, something's wrong with my login info. right now, I'll add it. Which will be now...
angelsetokaiba's journal:
February 1, 2008So...
I'm writing this new RP with Deidara...it's a vampire RP where I pretend to be a man, and she's my girl...it's going to get pretty intense and sexual. I've never done this before, even though I've written stories from a man's point of view in Erotic form. It should be interesting, to say the least. Maybe next time, she can pretend to be the man, and I'll be the girl, or we can do guy-on-guy or girl-on-girl action. We are both good writers, so the quality of this RP should rock! I can't wait to see how this turns out. Read and enjoy, folks! I only do this once in a blue moon, so watch out for "Vampiric Lovers." That's the title of our RP.
Current Mood: Sexually Unfulfilled And Sad...
I am Currently Listening To: NLT-"She Said, I Said, Time We Let
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January 19, 2008A Poem I Like...
Lovers Again
Happy I was in your embrace,
Pleasure I got, from admiring your face.
Gazing into your eyes, I got lost,
Enthralled by the beauty,
That almost made me
Lose my sanity.
Ignoring the need, to push you into a bush,
Ignoring the desire to pin you to the ground,
For hungry a kiss, for a love new found.
I clench my hands into fists,
Learning that ignorance is a bliss.
If you fall in love again,
Never ever will I let you go another time.
I bear in mind that I never will find
Another person like you.
In the times that we are apart,
I wonder about you endlessly,
I stand here by the sink to think:
The love you give is what I need to live.
Your love I now once again have,
Your love that is kind…
Your love that isn’t just a piece of mind…
Your love that is unique, like an antique.
Your love that I hold is gold,
So precious…
Current Mood: okay
I am Currently Listening To: Liquid Dreams-Otown
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January 19, 2008Another Poem...
I am time. Like a winded clock.
Things that rhyme, I can unlock.
I'll change the fate, of those who need,
some will wait, and I won't serve those filled with greed.
Patience is a luxury, and I live for the day,
Thanks, but I'll keep my sanity, and wait for things to go my way.
Current Mood: hot
I am Currently Listening To: NSync-"Bye, Bye, Bye"
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January 19, 2008New Poem...
My Song Of Sweet Surrender
Sweet surrender at the end.
Time, memories, flashbacks, no more pretend.
Jealousy, rage, and a soothing word.
Because truth is something I never told or heard.
Remembering the pain while asleep.
Knowing that the Devil's my soul (reap me)
Traces of my DNA.
Everywhere they say.
Because the truth is undeniable.
My soul is so restless.
My heart is so breakable.
And I don't care for less.
The pain is right in front of my eyes.
The dreams are over too.
I'm still paying for all my lies, but I'm still alive and do...I seem to stop:
no. Til the final laugh (they can)
I must reap the seed I sow. (have)
Then I can end.
Current Mood: Cool and Hot!
I am Currently Listening To: Click Five-"Just The Girl"
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January 16, 2008It's Like...
Everyone stopped reading my fanfic...if they haven't, then they just aren't leaving comments. I don't write for my health, people. If you read, please leave comments! I need to know which areas I need to improve on. Please help me if you see errors, or if you have ideas that could make my writing better. My email addresses are angelasephiro@parismail.zzn.com, and setokaibaangel@yahoo.com. Email me with comments, questions, or if you just need some friendly or serious, personal advice. I'm always here to help those in need. Thanks for reading!
Current Mood: happy
I am Currently Listening To: angel of darkness
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January 14, 2008Another Poem...
"My Feelings"
Did you know that I was here? I've made it all too clear. I cannot say goodbye to you, 'cause that would mean we're through. My heart, breaks in two, when I look over you. Can't leave what was in the past, somehow this must last. Don't stop me from going, then I would be showing. I don't see there at all, then I feel like I will fall. As crazy a lover as you are, it's understandable that you are far. I simply cannot believe...this message that you receive. I need all that you will be, you make me, the best part of me. In my life, I've seen darkness, but the Lord did bless, he restored the light, made me take off in flight. The pain of the past can't erase, this sadness on my face. My heart breaks when I hear the news ashore, it tells me that you'll never again walk through the door. It's a terrible pain, that you won't remain. Instantly, I know what to do, to make me not think of you. I write these words, and hope they stay, to erase your memory everyday. If I don't think of you, then of you I'll dream, you will know I love you, too, we make a perfect team. The dreams help soothe the ache, and all reasons for my living that you will take. It can't be possible, to live without you here, maybe things, will help sustain my fear. I can't go on, with you gone. I can't break free and be me. My arms are closed, fo you only do they open, you know. And as I sit by your grave, this memory of you I save. To know that with you I'll be, from now and through eternity.
Current Mood: happy
I am Currently Listening To: Akon-"Locked Up"
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January 12, 2008I Need Ideas For A New Fanfic...
Perhaps I'll do one about Naruto, or DragonballZ, or some other anime with hot guys.
Current Mood: happy
I am Currently Listening To: "Real Emotion" by: Yuna
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January 12, 2008Some Of My Poetry...
"Life Is Too Short" Jan. 12th, 2008, Sat.
Time is of the essence, they say, why is it like that everyday? It takes severe patience to live, with less patience than someone could in return give. We all sit around and wait, for good luck to befall us, for something by chance to improve our fate. Time is all we have here, our loved ones as well as our death is near, much too near. We have but a short time alone, from our baby years to the days when we're full-grown. It seems to come back, all at once-our pain, one turn of a smile can see us drowning in a river of despair once again.
"I Miss You" Jan. 12th, 2008, Sat.
I look in your eyes and almost cry, though I won't admitt that I know the reason why. My heart left and broke that day, I couldn't, wouldn't believe that things could end that way. "Angela Blue-Eyes Kaiba"-for years, I wrote my name for you, in hopes that repetition would somehow make it true. I walked up until I knelt by that stone, who would have thought after our love, I'd remain here alone? Things were not as they seem, for I would only see your eyes in a dream. I placed a flower upon your grave as tears in my eyes shone, I cried as I witnessed your name in granite stone.
Current Mood: loving
I am Currently Listening To: Angel Of Darkness(I love that song!)
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January 10, 2008About Kari Kaiba
(As Borrowed From Niku Shissomaru's Journal)
The Basic
Name?
Kari Kaiba
Age?
17
Birthdate?
June 19th, 1990
Hair Color?
dark brown
Eye Color?
light blue
Height?
5'9
Heritage?
Japanese/American
Zodiac Sign?
Gemini
This or That:
Pepsi or Coke?
Coke
Vanilla or Chocolate?
Vanilla
Mc Donald's or Burger King?
Mc Donald's
Day or Night?
Night
Hugs or Kisses?
Kisses
Summer or Winter?
Winter
Friendship:
Bestfriend?
Horu
Age?
20
Where did you Meet?
here, on seto-kaiba.com
What made you guys best friends?
We have a lot in common
Last time you guys talked?
today
Who Did You Last:
Kiss?
Horu
Went to the Movies With?
Horu
Hold Hands with?
Horu
Spend time with?
Sephiro, my son
Email?
Horu
Text?
Horu
Dance with in public?
Horu
Relationship:
Single Or Taken?
Taken
If Taken, what is his/her Name?
Horu
On a scale of 1-10, how much do you care about them?
10, if that means the most
Name 1 thing you guys have in common?
We both like to duel
Places:
Where did you last go?
Walmart
What country do you want to visit?
Tokyo, Japan
what has been the farthest place you've gone to?
Helen, GA
where do you not want to go?
Hell
Think About It:
If you were to choose one car to drive for the rest of your life, what would you choose?
Easy, A Mercedes Benz
Would you be able to survive if all of your electronics broke?
Never, I'd die of boredom!
If you were on your way to a job interview and a person accidently bumped into you, causing them to spill their coffee on you, what would you do?
I'd fuss them out
Favorite:
Color?
cobalt blue
Movie?
Eragon
Video Game?
Final Fantasy X
Drink?
Eggnog
Random:
What do you think about the word "Moist"?
reminds me of wet
Do you own a Ipod?
no
Do you own a Cell Phone?
yes
If so what kind?
Nokia
Do you read the Bible?
yes
Apple or Microsoft?
Microsoft
Ever been in a car Accident?
no
Current Mood: over the moon...and Jupiter...
I am Currently Listening To: 1000 Words-Final Fantasy X
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January 10, 2008I've Added A New Fanfic...
Called "Seto's Broken Heart" and I've got three chapters to add. I'll go do that.
Current Mood: nonchalant
I am Currently Listening To: 1000 Words-Final Fantasy X
kaiba'sgirloneandonly's journal:
January 30, 20082 New Poems...
Some Poetry Off The Top Of My Head...
Essence Of Time
When I look into your eyes, and see through that personal disquise, from my love, you try and hide, but when you left me I curled up and cried.
I lost what part of you, I had in the first place, now I miss all that I thought you should do, and there's a sad look upon my face.
I wanted what you were, to me, it felt like forever, one precious moment, I do concur, felt like eternity and at the same time never.
You lost what part of me, you thought you ever had, now I don't even see, why I wanted you so damn bad.
If we weren't meant for each other then, well, you can just go your way, like an angel from heaven, it seemed you fell, goodbye, I know you'll think of me someday.
Patience
I see you with her, it does burn, my soul aches again for your touch, you left me for another, nothing will I learn, until you want me as much. I can't understand, why you hate me so, I made not one demand, and still you had to go. My patience to be your once more, is all that keeps me sustained, I know who my heart beats for, it's you, what can be gained? I ask myself that about our time that didn't last, everytime I walk by and you're holding her hand, I didn't know you'd move on that fast, this isn't what I wanted or planned. You walked away so casually, so calm in your sight, your love touched me magically, and left me alone that night. So, I went and found, someone new to ease my pain, it's like you pushed me to the ground, then ran away, and somehow I care not that you don't remain. Don't come crying back to me, when you come to realize what I've known all along, when I'm finally free, my hatred for you will be even more strong. I can fight what I feel for him at all, unlike you, you will see, he catches me when you cause me to fall, and that's why he's the one with me.
Yeah, I have this new account, with the username karikaiba, on thoughts.com. Check it out if you're interested...
Current Mood: Whatever!
I am Currently Listening To: NLT-"Time We Let Go"
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January 14, 2008New Poem...
"Trust That Your Kiss Will Stay Mine"
If I could measure the breath of your kiss, I'd tell everyone that nothing compares to this. If I could rate your love, it would fall only second to the Lord God above. If I could memorize, every contour of your body and the look in your eyes...I would be your only queen, on my shoulder you can cry, confess, or just lean. I'll be here for you for always, for the rest of our days. I can't be everywhere, so I'll just have to trust you there.
Current Mood: cool
I am Currently Listening To: Aaliyah-"One In A Million"
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January 14, 2008New Fanfic...
It's called "Jailer In Love." Read and enjoy. I'll update when I get more ideas for it.
Current Mood: Happy
I am Currently Listening To: NLT-"Time We Let Go"
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January 12, 2008My Favorite Songs List...(To Be Updated As I See)
Final Fantasy X-"1000 Words"
Final Fantasy X-"Real Emotion"
Alanis Morsette-"Ironic"
Noein opening theme
Tokko opening theme
Hercules-"I Can Go The Distance"
Hercules-"Won't Say I'm In Love"
Aladdin-"A Whole New World"
Aladdin and the King of Thieves-"Out Of Thin Air"
98 Degrees-"I Do"
98 Degrees-"The Hardest Thing"
98 Degrees-"Invisible Man"
B5-"All I Do"
Clay Aiken-"Invisible"
Akon-"I Got You"
Cassie/Ray J-"Me and You"
Mariah Carey-"Heartbreaker"
Mariah Carey-"Butterfly"
Toni Braxton-"You're Makin' Me High"
Toni Braxton-"Unbreak My Heart"
Toni Braxton-"Spanish Guitar"
Toni Braxton-"Breathe Again"
Chicago-"You're The Inspiration"
Britney Spears-"Toxic"
Britney Spears-"Sometimes"
Britney Spears-"Baby One More Time"
Britney Spears-"From The Bottom Of My Heart"
Britney Spears-"Oops, I Did It Again"
Green Day-"Wake Me Up When September Ends"
Green Day-"Boulevard Of Broken Dreams"
Brandy and Monica-"The Boy Is Mine"
Monica-"For You I Will"
Monica-"Angel Of Mine"
Current Mood: cool
I am Currently Listening To: Toni Braxton-"Unbreak My Heart"
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January 11, 2008My Longest Journal Entry Ever
Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus spake Zarathustra
A book for all and none
translated by Thomas Common
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
HOW ZARATHUSTRA CAME INTO BEING.
FIRST PART.
ZARATHUSTRA’S DISCOURSES.
ZARATHUSTRA’S PROLOGUE.
THE THREE METAMORPHOSES.
THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE.
BACKWORLDSMEN.
THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.
JOYS AND PASSIONS.
THE PALE CRIMINAL.
READING AND WRITING.
THE TREE ON THE HILL.
THE PREACHERS OF DEATH.
WAR AND WARRIORS.
THE NEW IDOL.
THE FLIES IN THE MARKET-PLACE.
CHASTITY.
THE FRIEND.
THE THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS.
NEIGHBOUR-LOVE.
THE WAY OF THE CREATING ONE.
OLD AND YOUNG WOMEN.
THE BITE OF THE ADDER.
CHILD AND MARRIAGE.
VOLUNTARY DEATH.
THE BESTOWING VIRTUE.
SECOND PART.
THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR.
IN THE HAPPY ISLES.
THE PITIFUL.
THE PRIESTS.
THE VIRTUOUS.
THE RABBLE.
THE TARANTULAS.
THE FAMOUS WISE ONES.
THE NIGHT-SONG.
THE DANCE-SONG.
THE GRAVE-SONG.
SELF-SURPASSING.
THE SUBLIME ONES.
THE LAND OF CULTURE.
IMMACULATE PERCEPTION.
SCHOLARS.
POETS.
GREAT EVENTS.
THE SOOTHSAYER.
REDEMPTION.
MANLY PRUDENCE.
THE STILLEST HOUR.
THIRD PART.
THE WANDERER.
THE VISION AND THE ENIGMA.
INVOLUNTARY BLISS.
BEFORE SUNRISE.
THE BEDWARFING VIRTUE.
ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT.
ON PASSING-BY.
THE APOSTATES.
THE RETURN HOME.
THE THREE EVIL THINGS.
THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY.
OLD AND NEW TABLES.
THE CONVALESCENT.
THE GREAT LONGING.
THE SECOND DANCE-SONG.
THE SEVEN SEALS.
FOURTH AND LAST PART.
THE HONEY SACRIFICE.
THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
TALK WITH THE KINGS.
THE LEECH.
THE MAGICIAN.
OUT OF SERVICE.
THE UGLIEST MAN.
THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
THE SHADOW.
NOONTIDE.
THE GREETING.
THE SUPPER.
THE HIGHER MAN.
THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY.
SCIENCE.
AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT.
THE AWAKENING.
THE ASS-FESTIVAL.
THE DRUNKEN SONG.
THE SIGN.
APPENDIX:
NOTES ON “THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA” BY ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
PART I. THE PROLOGUE.
THE DISCOURSES.
PART II.
PART III.
PART IV.
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus spake Zarathustra
INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER–NIETZSCHE.
HOW ZARATHUSTRA CAME INTO BEING.
“Zarathustra” is my brother’s most personal work; it is the history of his most individual experiences, of his friendships, ideals, raptures, bitterest disappointments and sorrows. Above it all, however, there soars, transfiguring it, the image of his greatest hopes and remotest aims. My brother had the figure of Zarathustra in his mind from his very earliest youth: he once told me that even as a child he had dreamt of him. At different periods in his life, he would call this haunter of his dreams by different names; “but in the end,” he declares in a note on the subject, “I had to do a PERSIAN the honour of identifying him with this creature of my fancy. Persians were the first to take a broad and comprehensive view of history. Every series of evolutions, according to them, was presided over by a prophet; and every prophet had his ‘Hazar,’—his dynasty of a thousand years.”
All Zarathustra’s views, as also his personality, were early conceptions of my brother’s mind. Whoever reads his posthumously published writings for the years 1869–82 with care, will constantly meet with passages suggestive of Zarathustra’s thoughts and doctrines. For instance, the ideal of the Superman is put forth quite clearly in all his writings during the years 1873–75; and in “We Philologists”, the following remarkable observations occur:—
“How can one praise and glorify a nation as a whole?—Even among the Greeks, it was the INDIVIDUALS that counted.”
“The Greeks are interesting and extremely important because they reared such a vast number of great individuals. How was this possible? The question is one which ought to be studied.
“I am interested only in the relations of a people to the rearing of the individual man, and among the Greeks the conditions were unusually favourable for the development of the individual; not by any means owing to the goodness of the people, but because of the struggles of their evil instincts.
“WITH THE HELP OF FAVOURABLE MEASURES GREAT INDIVIDUALS MIGHT BE REARED WHO WOULD BE BOTH DIFFERENT FROM AND HIGHER THAN THOSE WHO HERETOFORE HAVE OWED THEIR EXISTENCE TO MERE CHANCE. Here we may still be hopeful: in the rearing of exceptional men.”
The notion of rearing the Superman is only a new form of an ideal Nietzsche already had in his youth, that “THE OBJECT OF MANKIND SHOULD LIE IN ITS HIGHEST INDIVIDUALS” (or, as he writes in “Schopenhauer as Educator”: “Mankind ought constantly to be striving to produce great men—this and nothing else is its duty.”) But the ideals he most revered in those days are no longer held to be the highest types of men. No, around this future ideal of a coming humanity—the Superman—the poet spread the veil of becoming. Who can tell to what glorious heights man can still ascend? That is why, after having tested the worth of our noblest ideal—that of the Saviour, in the light of the new valuations, the poet cries with passionate emphasis in “Zarathustra”:
“Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them, the greatest and the smallest man:—
All–too–similar are they still to each other. Verily even the greatest found I—all–too–human!”—
The phrase “the rearing of the Superman,” has very often been misunderstood. By the word “rearing,” in this case, is meant the act of modifying by means of new and higher values—values which, as laws and guides of conduct and opinion, are now to rule over mankind. In general the doctrine of the Superman can only be understood correctly in conjunction with other ideas of the author’s, such as:—the Order of Rank, the Will to Power, and the Transvaluation of all Values. He assumes that Christianity, as a product of the resentment of the botched and the weak, has put in ban all that is beautiful, strong, proud, and powerful, in fact all the qualities resulting from strength, and that, in consequence, all forces which tend to promote or elevate life have been seriously undermined. Now, however, a new table of valuations must be placed over mankind—namely, that of the strong, mighty, and magnificent man, overflowing with life and elevated to his zenith—the Superman, who is now put before us with overpowering passion as the aim of our life, hope, and will. And just as the old system of valuing, which only extolled the qualities favourable to the weak, the suffering, and the oppressed, has succeeded in producing a weak, suffering, and “modern” race, so this new and reversed system of valuing ought to rear a healthy, strong, lively, and courageous type, which would be a glory to life itself. Stated briefly, the leading principle of this new system of valuing would be: “All that proceeds from power is good, all that springs from weakness is bad.”
This type must not be regarded as a fanciful figure: it is not a nebulous hope which is to be realised at some indefinitely remote period, thousands of years hence; nor is it a new species (in the Darwinian sense) of which we can know nothing, and which it would therefore be somewhat absurd to strive after. But it is meant to be a possibility which men of the present could realise with all their spiritual and physical energies, provided they adopted the new values.
The author of “Zarathustra” never lost sight of that egregious example of a transvaluation of all values through Christianity, whereby the whole of the deified mode of life and thought of the Greeks, as well as strong Romedom, was almost annihilated or transvalued in a comparatively short time. Could not a rejuvenated Graeco–Roman system of valuing (once it had been refined and made more profound by the schooling which two thousand years of Christianity had provided) effect another such revolution within a calculable period of time, until that glorious type of manhood shall finally appear which is to be our new faith and hope, and in the creation of which Zarathustra exhorts us to participate?
In his private notes on the subject the author uses the expression “Superman” (always in the singular, by–the–bye), as signifying “the most thoroughly well–constituted type,” as opposed to “modern man”; above all, however, he designates Zarathustra himself as an example of the Superman. In “Ecco Homo” he is careful to enlighten us concerning the precursors and prerequisites to the advent of this highest type, in referring to a certain passage in the “Gay Science”:—
“In order to understand this type, we must first be quite clear in regard to the leading physiological condition on which it depends: this condition is what I call GREAT HEALTHINESS. I know not how to express my meaning more plainly or more personally than I have done already in one of the last chapters (Aphorism 382) of the fifth book of the ‘Gaya Scienza’.”
“We, the new, the nameless, the hard–to–understand,”—it says there,—”we firstlings of a yet untried future—we require for a new end also a new means, namely, a new healthiness, stronger, sharper, tougher, bolder and merrier than all healthiness hitherto. He whose soul longeth to experience the whole range of hitherto recognised values and desirabilities, and to circumnavigate all the coasts of this ideal ‘Mediterranean Sea’, who, from the adventures of his most personal experience, wants to know how it feels to be a conqueror, and discoverer of the ideal—as likewise how it is with the artist, the saint, the legislator, the sage, the scholar, the devotee, the prophet, and the godly non–conformist of the old style:—requires one thing above all for that purpose, GREAT HEALTHINESS—such healthiness as one not only possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, because one unceasingly sacrifices it again, and must sacrifice it!—And now, after having been long on the way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the ideal, more courageous perhaps than prudent, and often enough shipwrecked and brought to grief, nevertheless dangerously healthy, always healthy again,—it would seem as if, in recompense for it all, that we have a still undiscovered country before us, the boundaries of which no one has yet seen, a beyond to all countries and corners of the ideal known hitherto, a world so over–rich in the beautiful, the strange, the questionable, the frightful, and the divine, that our curiosity as well as our thirst for possession thereof, have got out of hand—alas! that nothing will now any longer satisfy us!—
“How could we still be content with THE MAN OF THE PRESENT DAY after such outlooks, and with such a craving in our conscience and consciousness? Sad enough; but it is unavoidable that we should look on the worthiest aims and hopes of the man of the present day with ill–concealed amusement, and perhaps should no longer look at them. Another ideal runs on before us, a strange, tempting ideal full of danger, to which we should not like to persuade any one, because we do not so readily acknowledge any one’s RIGHT THERETO: the ideal of a spirit who plays naively (that is to say involuntarily and from overflowing abundance and power) with everything that has hitherto been called holy, good, intangible, or divine; to whom the loftiest conception which the people have reasonably made their measure of value, would already practically imply danger, ruin, abasement, or at least relaxation, blindness, or temporary self–forgetfulness; the ideal of a humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence, which will often enough appear INHUMAN, for example, when put alongside of all past seriousness on earth, and alongside of all past solemnities in bearing, word, tone, look, morality, and pursuit, as their truest involuntary parody—and WITH which, nevertheless, perhaps THE GREAT SERIOUSNESS only commences, when the proper interrogative mark is set up, the fate of the soul changes, the hour–hand moves, and tragedy begins...”
Although the figure of Zarathustra and a large number of the leading thoughts in this work had appeared much earlier in the dreams and writings of the author, “Thus Spake Zarathustra” did not actually come into being until the month of August 1881 in Sils Maria; and it was the idea of the Eternal Recurrence of all things which finally induced my brother to set forth his new views in poetic language. In regard to his first conception of this idea, his autobiographical sketch, “Ecce Homo”, written in the autumn of 1888, contains the following passage:—
“The fundamental idea of my work—namely, the Eternal Recurrence of all things—this highest of all possible formulae of a Yea–saying philosophy, first occurred to me in August 1881. I made a note of the thought on a sheet of paper, with the postscript: 6,000 feet beyond men and time! That day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside of the lake of Silvaplana, and I halted beside a huge, pyramidal and towering rock not far from Surlei. It was then that the thought struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months previous to this inspiration, I had had an omen of its coming in the form of a sudden and decisive alteration in my tastes—more particularly in music. It would even be possible to consider all ‘Zarathustra’ as a musical composition. At all events, a very necessary condition in its production was a renaissance in myself of the art of hearing. In a small mountain resort (Recoaro) near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of 1881, I and my friend and Maestro, Peter Gast—also one who had been born again—discovered that the phoenix music that hovered over us, wore lighter and brighter plumes than it had done theretofore.”
During the month of August 1881 my brother resolved to reveal the teaching of the Eternal Recurrence, in dithyrambic and psalmodic form, through the mouth of Zarathustra. Among the notes of this period, we found a page on which is written the first definite plan of “Thus Spake Zarathustra”:—
“MIDDAY AND ETERNITY.”
“GUIDE–POSTS TO A NEW WAY OF LIVING.”
Beneath this is written:—
“Zarathustra born on lake Urmi; left his home in his thirtieth year, went into the province of Aria, and, during ten years of solitude in the mountains, composed the Zend–Avesta.”
“The sun of knowledge stands once more at midday; and the serpent of eternity lies coiled in its light—: It is YOUR time, ye midday brethren.”
In that summer of 1881, my brother, after many years of steadily declining health, began at last to rally, and it is to this first gush of the recovery of his once splendid bodily condition that we owe not only “The Gay Science”, which in its mood may be regarded as a prelude to “Zarathustra”, but also “Zarathustra” itself. Just as he was beginning to recuperate his health, however, an unkind destiny brought him a number of most painful personal experiences. His friends caused him many disappointments, which were the more bitter to him, inasmuch as he regarded friendship as such a sacred institution; and for the first time in his life he realised the whole horror of that loneliness to which, perhaps, all greatness is condemned. But to be forsaken is something very different from deliberately choosing blessed loneliness. How he longed, in those days, for the ideal friend who would thoroughly understand him, to whom he would be able to say all, and whom he imagined he had found at various periods in his life from his earliest youth onwards. Now, however, that the way he had chosen grew ever more perilous and steep, he found nobody who could follow him: he therefore created a perfect friend for himself in the ideal form of a majestic philosopher, and made this creation the preacher of his gospel to the world.
Whether my brother would ever have written “Thus Spake Zarathustra” according to the first plan sketched in the summer of 1881, if he had not had the disappointments already referred to, is now an idle question; but perhaps where “Zarathustra” is concerned, we may also say with Master Eckhardt: “The fleetest beast to bear you to perfection is suffering.”
My brother writes as follows about the origin of the first part of “Zarathustra”:—”In the winter of 1882–83, I was living on the charming little Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, and between Chiavari and Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold and exceptionally rainy; and the small inn in which I lived was so close to the water that at night my sleep would be disturbed if the sea were high. These circumstances were surely the very reverse of favourable; and yet in spite of it all, and as if in demonstration of my belief that everything decisive comes to life in spite of every obstacle, it was precisely during this winter and in the midst of these unfavourable circumstances that my ‘Zarathustra’ originated. In the morning I used to start out in a southerly direction up the glorious road to Zoagli, which rises aloft through a forest of pines and gives one a view far out into the sea. In the afternoon, as often as my health permitted, I walked round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond Porto Fino. This spot was all the more interesting to me, inasmuch as it was so dearly loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I chanced to be there again when he was revisiting this small, forgotten world of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that all ‘Zarathustra’ came to me, above all Zarathustra himself as a type;—I ought rather to say that it was on these walks that these ideas waylaid me.”
The first part of “Zarathustra” was written in about ten days—that is to say, from the beginning to about the middle of February 1883. “The last lines were written precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave up the ghost in Venice.”
With the exception of the ten days occupied in composing the first part of this book, my brother often referred to this winter as the hardest and sickliest he had ever experienced. He did not, however, mean thereby that his former disorders were troubling him, but that he was suffering from a severe attack of influenza which he had caught in Santa Margherita, and which tormented him for several weeks after his arrival in Genoa. As a matter of fact, however, what he complained of most was his spiritual condition—that indescribable forsakenness—to which he gives such heartrending expression in “Zarathustra”. Even the reception which the first part met with at the hands of friends and acquaintances was extremely disheartening: for almost all those to whom he presented copies of the work misunderstood it. “I found no one ripe for many of my thoughts; the case of ‘Zarathustra’ proves that one can speak with the utmost clearness, and yet not be heard by any one.” My brother was very much discouraged by the feebleness of the response he was given, and as he was striving just then to give up the practice of taking hydrate of chloral—a drug he had begun to take while ill with influenza,—the following spring, spent in Rome, was a somewhat gloomy one for him. He writes about it as follows:— “I spent a melancholy spring in Rome, where I only just managed to live,— and this was no easy matter. This city, which is absolutely unsuited to the poet–author of ‘Zarathustra’, and for the choice of which I was not responsible, made me inordinately miserable. I tried to leave it. I wanted to go to Aquila—the opposite of Rome in every respect, and actually founded in a spirit of enmity towards that city (just as I also shall found a city some day), as a memento of an atheist and genuine enemy of the Church—a person very closely related to me,—the great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick II. But Fate lay behind it all: I had to return again to Rome. In the end I was obliged to be satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had exerted myself in vain to find an anti–Christian quarter. I fear that on one occasion, to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually inquired at the Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a quiet room for a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just mentioned, from which one obtained a general view of Rome and could hear the fountains plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs was composed—’The Night–Song’. About this time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the words, ‘dead through immortality.’”
We remained somewhat too long in Rome that spring, and what with the effect of the increasing heat and the discouraging circumstances already described, my brother resolved not to write any more, or in any case, not to proceed with “Zarathustra”, although I offered to relieve him of all trouble in connection with the proofs and the publisher. When, however, we returned to Switzerland towards the end of June, and he found himself once more in the familiar and exhilarating air of the mountains, all his joyous creative powers revived, and in a note to me announcing the dispatch of some manuscript, he wrote as follows: “I have engaged a place here for three months: forsooth, I am the greatest fool to allow my courage to be sapped from me by the climate of Italy. Now and again I am troubled by the thought: WHAT NEXT? My ‘future’ is the darkest thing in the world to me, but as there still remains a great deal for me to do, I suppose I ought rather to think of doing this than of my future, and leave the rest to THEE and the gods.”
The second part of “Zarathustra” was written between the 26th of June and the 6th July. “This summer, finding myself once more in the sacred place where the first thought of ‘Zarathustra’ flashed across my mind, I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither for the second, the first, nor the third part, have I required a day longer.”
He often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in which he wrote “Zarathustra”; how in his walks over hill and dale the ideas would crowd into his mind, and how he would note them down hastily in a note–book from which he would transcribe them on his return, sometimes working till midnight. He says in a letter to me: “You can have no idea of the vehemence of such composition,” and in “Ecce Homo” (autumn 1888) he describes as follows with passionate enthusiasm the incomparable mood in which he created Zarathustra:—
“—Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of superstition in one, it would hardly be possible to set aside completely the idea that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium of an almighty power. The idea of revelation in the sense that something becomes suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and accuracy, which profoundly convulses and upsets one—describes simply the matter of fact. One hears— one does not seek; one takes—one does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like lightning, it comes with necessity, unhesitatingly—I have never had any choice in the matter. There is an ecstasy such that the immense strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one’s steps either rush or involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is completely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes;—there is a depth of happiness in which the painfullest and gloomiest do not operate as antitheses, but as conditioned, as demanded in the sense of necessary shades of colour in such an overflow of light. There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which embraces wide areas of forms (length, the need of a wide–embracing rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort of counterpart to its pressure and tension). Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntariness of the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing; one loses all perception of what constitutes the figure and what constitutes the simile; everything seems to present itself as the readiest, the correctest and the simplest means of expression. It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra’s own phrases, as if all things came unto one, and would fain be similes: ‘Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee, for they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every truth. Here fly open unto thee all being’s words and word–cabinets; here all being wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of thee how to talk.’ This is MY experience of inspiration. I do not doubt but that one would have to go back thousands of years in order to find some one who could say to me: It is mine also!—”
In the autumn of 1883 my brother left the Engadine for Germany and stayed there a few weeks. In the following winter, after wandering somewhat erratically through Stresa, Genoa, and Spezia, he landed in Nice, where the climate so happily promoted his creative powers that he wrote the third part of “Zarathustra”. “In the winter, beneath the halcyon sky of Nice, which then looked down upon me for the first time in my life, I found the third ‘Zarathustra’—and came to the end of my task; the whole having occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners and heights in the landscapes round about Nice are hallowed to me by unforgettable moments. That decisive chapter entitled ‘Old and New Tables’ was composed in the very difficult ascent from the station to Eza—that wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. My most creative moments were always accompanied by unusual muscular activity. The body is inspired: let us waive the question of the ‘soul.’ I might often have been seen dancing in those days. Without a suggestion of fatigue I could then walk for seven or eight hours on end among the hills. I slept well and laughed well—I was perfectly robust and patient.”
As we have seen, each of the three parts of “Zarathustra” was written, after a more or less short period of preparation, in about ten days. The composition of the fourth part alone was broken by occasional interruptions. The first notes relating to this part were written while he and I were staying together in Zurich in September 1884. In the following November, while staying at Mentone, he began to elaborate these notes, and after a long pause, finished the manuscript at Nice between the end of January and the middle of February 1885. My brother then called this part the fourth and last; but even before, and shortly after it had been privately printed, he wrote to me saying that he still intended writing a fifth and sixth part, and notes relating to these parts are now in my possession. This fourth part (the original MS. of which contains this note: “Only for my friends, not for the public”) is written in a particularly personal spirit, and those few to whom he presented a copy of it, he pledged to the strictest secrecy concerning its contents. He often thought of making this fourth part public also, but doubted whether he would ever be able to do so without considerably altering certain portions of it. At all events he resolved to distribute this manuscript production, of which only forty copies were printed, only among those who had proved themselves worthy of it, and it speaks eloquently of his utter loneliness and need of sympathy in those days, that he had occasion to present only seven copies of his book according to this resolution.
Already at the beginning of this history I hinted at the reasons which led my brother to select a Persian as the incarnation of his ideal of the majestic philosopher. His reasons, however, for choosing Zarathustra of all others to be his mouthpiece, he gives us in the following words:— “People have never asked me, as they should have done, what the name Zarathustra precisely means in my mouth, in the mouth of the first Immoralist; for what distinguishes that philosopher from all others in the past is the very fact that he was exactly the reverse of an immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle between good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. The translation of morality into the metaphysical, as force, cause, end in itself, was HIS work. But the very question suggests its own answer. Zarathustra CREATED the most portentous error, MORALITY, consequently he should also be the first to PERCEIVE that error, not only because he has had longer and greater experience of the subject than any other thinker—all history is the experimental refutation of the theory of the so–called moral order of things:—the more important point is that Zarathustra was more truthful than any other thinker. In his teaching alone do we meet with truthfulness upheld as the highest virtue—i.e.: the reverse of the COWARDICE of the ‘idealist’ who flees from reality. Zarathustra had more courage in his body than any other thinker before or after him. To tell the truth and TO AIM STRAIGHT: that is the first Persian virtue. Am I understood?...The overcoming of morality through itself—through truthfulness, the overcoming of the moralist through his opposite—THROUGH ME—: that is what the name Zarathustra means in my mouth.”
ELIZABETH FORSTER–NIETZSCHE.
Nietzsche Archives, Weimar, December 1905.
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus spake Zarathustra
II. THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE.
People commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who could discourse well about sleep and virtue: greatly was he honoured and rewarded for it, and all the youths sat before his chair. To him went Zarathustra, and sat among the youths before his chair. And thus spake the wise man:
Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing! And to go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at night!
Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealeth softly through the night. Immodest, however, is the night–watchman; immodestly he carrieth his horn.
No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose to keep awake all day.
Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesome weariness, and is poppy to the soul.
Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled.
Ten truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seek truth during the night, and thy soul will have been hungry.
Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwise thy stomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night.
Few people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order to sleep well. Shall I bear false witness? Shall I commit adultery?
Shall I covet my neighbour’s maidservant? All that would ill accord with good sleep.
And even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thing needful: to send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time.
That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! And about thee, thou unhappy one!
Peace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth good sleep. And peace also with thy neighbour’s devil! Otherwise it will haunt thee in the night.
Honour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crooked government! So desireth good sleep. How can I help it, if power like to walk on crooked legs?
He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always be for me the best shepherd: so doth it accord with good sleep.
Many honours I want not, nor great treasures: they excite the spleen. But it is bad sleeping without a good name and a little treasure.
A small company is more welcome to me than a bad one: but they must come and go at the right time. So doth it accord with good sleep.
Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they promote sleep. Blessed are they, especially if one always give in to them.
Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then take I good care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned—sleep, the lord of the virtues!
But I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thus ruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy ten overcomings?
And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the ten laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?
Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me all at once—sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues.
Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth my mouth, and it remaineth open.
Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves, and stealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this academic chair.
But not much longer do I then stand: I already lie.—
When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in his heart: for thereby had a light dawned upon him. And thus spake he to his heart:
A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts: but I believe he knoweth well how to sleep.
Happy even is he who liveth near this wise man! Such sleep is contagious— even through a thick wall it is contagious.
A magic resideth even in his academic chair. And not in vain did the youths sit before the preacher of virtue.
His wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well. And verily, if life had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the desirablest nonsense for me also.
Now know I well what people sought formerly above all else when they sought teachers of virtue. Good sleep they sought for themselves, and poppy–head virtues to promote it!
To all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleep without dreams: they knew no higher significance of life.
Even at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher of virtue, and not always so honourable: but their time is past. And not much longer do they stand: there they already lie.
Blessed are those drowsy ones: for they shall soon nod to sleep.—
Thus spake Zarathustra.
III. BACKWORLDSMEN.
Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all backworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world then seem to me.
The dream—and diction—of a God, did the world then seem to me; coloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.
Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou—coloured vapours did they seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away from himself,—thereupon he created the world.
Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self–forgetting, did the world once seem to me.
This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction’s image and imperfect image—an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:—thus did the world once seem to me.
Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth?
Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human madness, like all the Gods!
A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mine own ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came not unto me from the beyond!
What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom WITHDREW from me!
To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe in such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation. Thus speak I to backworldsmen.
Suffering was it, and impotence—that created all backworlds; and the short madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer experienceth.
Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with a death–leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any longer: that created all Gods and backworlds.
Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the body—it groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.
Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the earth—it heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.
And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its head—and not with its head only—into “the other world.”
But that “other world” is well concealed from man, that dehumanised, inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence do not speak unto man, except as man.
Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak. Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved?
Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most uprightly of its being—this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is the measure and value of things.
And this most upright existence, the ego—it speaketh of the body, and still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth with broken wings.
Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it learneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the earth.
A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longer to thrust one’s head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry it freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!
A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath followed blindly, and to approve of it—and no longer to slink aside from it, like the sick and perishing!
The sick and perishing—it was they who despised the body and the earth, and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood–drops; but even those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the earth!
From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for them. Then they sighed: “O that there were heavenly paths by which to steal into another existence and into happiness!” Then they contrived for themselves their by–paths and bloody draughts!
Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied themselves transported, these ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe the convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body and this earth.
Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignant at their modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they become convalescents and overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves!
Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly on his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God; but sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.
Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and languish for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the latest of virtues, which is uprightness.
Backward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, were delusion and faith something different. Raving of the reason was likeness to God, and doubt was sin.
Too well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believed in, and that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what they themselves most believe in.
Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood–drops: but in the body do they also believe most; and their own body is for them the thing–in–itself.
But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their skin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves preach backworlds.
Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a more upright and pure voice.
More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and square– built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.—
Thus spake Zarathustra.
IV. THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.
To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own bodies,—and thus be dumb.
“Body am I, and soul”—so saith the child. And why should one not speak like children?
But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: “Body am I entirely, and nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body.”
The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd.
An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which thou callest “spirit”—a little instrument and plaything of thy big sagacity.
“Ego,” sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greater thing—in which thou art unwilling to believe—is thy body with its big sagacity; it saith not “ego,” but doeth it.
What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are the end of all things: so vain are they.
Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.
Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego’s ruler.
Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy body.
There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?
Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. “What are these prancings and flights of thought unto me?” it saith to itself. “A by–way to my purpose. I am the leading–string of the ego, and the prompter of its notions.”
The Self saith unto the ego: “Feel pain!” And thereupon it suffereth, and thinketh how it may put an end thereto—and for that very purpose it IS MEANT to think.
The Self saith unto the ego: “Feel pleasure!” Thereupon it rejoiceth, and thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice—and for that very purpose it IS MEANT to think.
To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising and worth and will?
The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to its will.
Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from life.
No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:—create beyond itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.
But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body.
To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.
I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman!—
Thus spake Zarathustra.
V. JOYS AND PASSIONS.
My brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is thine own virtue, thou hast it in common with no one.
To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and caress it; thou wouldst pull its ears and amuse thyself with it.
And lo! Then hast thou its name in common with the people, and hast become one of the people and the herd with thy virtue!
Better for thee to say: “Ineffable is it, and nameless, that which is pain and sweetness to my soul, and also the hunger of my bowels.”
Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and if thou must speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it.
Thus speak and stammer: “That is MY good, that do I love, thus doth it please me entirely, thus only do _I_ desire the good.
Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law or a human need do I desire it; it is not to be a guide–post for me to superearths and paradises.
An earthly virtue is it which I love: little prudence is therein, and the least everyday wisdom.
But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore, I love and cherish it— now sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs.”
Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy virtue.
Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil. But now hast thou only thy virtues: they grew out of thy passions.
Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those passions: then became they thy virtues and joys.
And though thou wert of the race of the hot–tempered, or of the voluptuous, or of the fanatical, or the vindictive;
All thy passions in the end became virtues, and all thy devils angels.
Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed at last int |
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