And we—we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders, over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us: ‘Yea, life is hard to bear!’

But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.

Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too many extraneous heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself—then seemeth life to him a desert!

And verily! Many a thing also that is our own is hard to bear! And many internal things in man are like the oyster—repulsive and slippery and hard to grasp—

So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for them. But this art also must one learn: to have a shell, and a fine appearance, and sagacious blindness!

Again, it deceiveth about many things in man that many a shell is poor and pitiable and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!

Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter, a little leaner—oh, how much fate is in so little!

Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all; often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit of gravity.

He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: ‘This is my good and evil.’ Therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: ‘Good for all, evil for all.’

Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.

All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything—that is not the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and stomachs which have learned to say ‘I’ and ‘Yea’ and ‘Nay.’

To chew and digest everything, however—that is the genuine swine-nature! Ever to say Ye-a—that hath only the ass learnt, and those like it!

Deep yellow and hot red—so wanteth my taste—it mixeth blood with all colours. He, however, who white- washeth his house, betrayeth unto me a whitewashed soul.

With mummies some fall in love, others with phantoms; both alike hostile to all flesh and blood—oh, how repugnant are both to my taste! For I love blood.

And there will I not reside and abide, where every one spitteth and speweth: that is now my taste—rather would I live amongst thieves and perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.

Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the most repugnant animal of man that I found did I christen ‘parasite’: it would not love, and would yet live by love.

Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to become evil beasts or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not build my tabernacle.

Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to wait—they are repugnant to my taste: all the toll-gatherers and traders and kings and other landkeepers and shopkeepers.

Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so—but only waiting for myself. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and leaping and climbing and dancing.