Thus Spake Zarathustra - Penn State University

Thus Spake Zarathustrabrightened nights of longing.’TIS NIGHT: NOW do all gushing fountains speak louder. Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the darkening ofAnd my soul also is a gushing fountain.my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh, the violent hunger’Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving ones in satiety!awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving one. They take from me: but do I yet touch their soul?Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it There is a gap ‘twixt giving and receiving; and the smallestgap hath finally to be bridged over.longeth to find expression. A craving for love is withinme, which speaketh itself the language of love.A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should like toLight am I: ah, that I were night! But it is my lonesomenessto be begirt with light!gifted:—thus do I hunger for wickedness.injure those I illumine; I should like to rob those I haveAh, that I were dark and nightly! How would I suck at Withdrawing my hand when another hand already stretcheththe breasts of light!out to it; hesitating like the cascade, which hesitateth evenAnd you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling starlets in its leap:—thus do I hunger for wickedness!and glow-worms aloft!—and would rejoice in the gifts of Such revenge doth mine abundance think of: such mischiefwelleth out of my lonesomeness.your light.But I live in mine own light, I drink again into myself My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing; my virtuebecame weary of itself by its abundance!the flames that break forth from me.I know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing his shame;dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than receiving. to him who ever dispenseth, the hand and heart becomeIt is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth bestowing;it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes and the Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame ofcallous by very dispensing.sup-102