"Enemy" shall ye say but not "villain," "invalid" shall ye say but
not "wretch," "fool" shall ye say but not "sinner."

  And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done in
thought, then would every one cry: "Away with the nastiness and the
virulent reptile!"

  But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and another
thing is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not roll
between them.

  An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate was he for his deed when
he did it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done.

  Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed. Madness,
I call this: the exception reversed itself to the rule in him.

  The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck
bewitched his weak reason. Madness after the deed, I call this.

  Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and it is
before the deed. Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into this soul!

  Thus speaketh the red judge: "Why did this criminal commit murder?
He meant to rob." I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not
booty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!

  But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuaded
him. "What matter about blood!" it said; "wishest thou not, at
least, to make booty thereby? Or take revenge?"

  And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its words
upon him- thereupon he robbed when he murdered. He did not mean to
be ashamed of his madness.

  And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and once
more is his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.

  Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; but
who shaketh that head?

  What is this man? A mass of diseases that reach out into the world
through the spirit; there they want to get their prey.

  What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peace
among themselves- so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world.

  Look at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the poor soul
interpreted to itself- it interpreted it as murderous desire, and
eagerness for the happiness of the knife.

  Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil:
he seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain. But there
have been other ages, and another evil and good.

  Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid became a
heretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to
cause suffering.

  But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, ye
tell me. But what doth it matter to me about your good people!

  Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, not
their evil. I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed,
like this pale criminal!

  Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity,
or justice: but they have their virtue in order to live long, and in
wretched self-complacency.

  I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me
may grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

                 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