Fenrir's Fangs

7. Reading and Writing

  OF ALL that is written, I love only what a person hath written with
his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
  It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the
reading idlers.
  He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader.
Another century of readers- and spirit itself will stink.
  Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run
not only writing but also thinking.
  Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh
populace.
  He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read,
but learnt by heart.
  In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that
route thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those
spoken to should be big and tall.
  The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a
joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.
  I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage
which scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins- it wanteth
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.
  Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward
because I am exalted.
  Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
  He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic
plays and tragic realities.
  Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive- so wisdom wisheth us;
she is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.
  Ye tell me, "Life is hard to bear." But for what purpose should ye
have your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening?
  Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are
all of us fine sumpter asses and she-asses.
  What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because
a drop of dew hath formed upon it?
  It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but
because we are wont to love.
  There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also,
some method in madness.
  And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and
soap-bubbles, and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy
happiness.
  To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit
about- that moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.
  I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.
  And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound,
solemn: he was the spirit of gravity- through him all things fall.
  Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay 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 pushing in order to move from a spot.
  Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself.
Now there danceth a God in me.-
  Thus spake Zarathustra.