That I saw and scented in every one, what was enough of spirit for him and what was too much!

Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff — thus did I learn to slur over words.

The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Beneath old rubbish rest bad vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live on mountains.

With blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain freedom. Freed at last is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!

With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, sneezeth my soul — sneezeth, and shouteth self- congratulatingly: ‘Health to thee!’

Thus spake Zarathustra.