. . . An Absurd Problem Came

We Find Nothing Easier Than Being Wise, Patient, Superior. We Drip With The Oil Of Forbearance And Sympathy, We Are Absurdly Just, We Forgive Everything. For That Very Reason We Ought To Discipline Ourselves A Little; For That Very Reason We Ought To Cultivate A Little Emotion, A Little Emotional Vice, From Time To Time. It May Be Hard For Us; And Among Ourselves We May Perhaps Laugh At The Appearance We Thus Present. But What Of That! We No Longer Have Any Other Mode Of Self-overcoming Available To Us: This Is Our Asceticism, Our Penance.

The Voice Of Beauty Speaks Softly; It Creeps Only Into The Most Fully Awakened Souls

When Death Brings At Last The Desired Forgetfulness, It Abolishes Life And Being Together, And Sets The Seal On The Knowledge That "being" Is Merely A Continual "has Been," A Thing That Lives By Denying And Destroying And Contradicting Itself.

Every Relationship That Does Not Raise Us Up Pulls Us Down, And Vice Versa; This Is Why Men Usually Sink Down Somewhat When They Take Wives While Women Are Usually Somewhat Raised Up. Overly Spiritual Men Require Marriage Every Bit As Much As They Resist It As Bitter Medicine.

Zarathustra Was The First To Consider The Fight Of Good And Evil The Very Wheel In The Machinery Of Things: The Transposition Of Morality Into The Metaphysical Realm, As A Force, Cause, And End In Itself, Is His Work. [...] Zarathustra Created This Most Calamitous Error, Morality; Consequently, He Must Also Be The First To Recognize It.