Would you go into isolation, my brother? would you seek the way to yourself? Tarry yet a little and listen to me.
"He who seeks may easily get lost himself. All isolation is wrong": so say the herd. And long did you belong to the herd.
The voice of the herd will still echo in you. And when you say, "I have no longer a conscience in common with you," then will it be a plaint and a pain.
Behold, that pain itself did the same conscience produce; and the last gleam of that conscience still glows on your affliction.
But you would go the way of your affliction, which is the way to yourself? Then show me your authority and your strength to do so!
Are you a new strength and a new authority? A first motion? A self-rolling wheel? can you also compel stars to revolve around you?
Alas. there is so much lusting for loftiness! There are so many convulsions of the ambitions! Show me that you are not a lusting and ambitious one!
Alas. there are so many great thoughts that do nothing more than the bellows: they inflate, and make emptier than ever.
Free, do you call yourself? your ruling thought would I hear of, and not that you have escaped from a yoke.
Are you one entitled to escape from a yoke? Many a one has cast away his final worth when he has cast away his servitude.
Free from what? What does that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly, however, shall your eye show to me: free for what?
Can you give to yourself your bad and your good, and set up your will as a law over you? can you be judge for yourself, and avenger of your law?
Terrible is aloneness with the judge and avenger of one's own law. Thus is a star projected into desert space, and into the icy breath of aloneness.
To-day suffer you still from the multitude, you individual; today have you still your courage unabated, and your hopes.
But one day will the solitude weary you; one day will your pride yield, and your courage quail. you will one day cry: "I am alone!"
One day will you see no longer your loftiness, and see too closely your lowliness; your sublimity itself will frighten you as a phantom. you will one day cry: "All is false!"
There are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they do not succeed, then must they themselves die! But are you capable of it - to be a murderer?
Have you ever known, my brother, the word "disdain"? And the anguish of your justice in being just to those that disdain you?
You force many to think differently about you; that, charge they heavily to your account. you came nigh to them, and yet went past: for that they never forgive you.
You go beyond them: but the higher you rise, the smaller does the eye of envy see you. Most of all, however, is the flying one hated.
"How could you be just to me!" - must you say - "I choose your injustice as my allotted portion.
Injustice and filth cast they at the lonesome one: but, my brother, if you would be a star, you must shine for them none the less on that account!
And be on your guard against the good and just! They would rather crucify those who devise their own virtue - they hate the lonesome ones.
Be on your guard, also, against holy simplicity! All is unholy to it that is not simple; rather, likewise, would it play with the fire - of the fagot and stake.
And be on your guard, also, against the assaults of your love! Too readily does the recluse reach his hand to anyone who meets him.
To many a one may you not give your hand, but only your paw; and I wish your paw also to have claws.
But the worst enemy you can meet, will you yourself always be; you waylay yourself in caverns and forests.
You lonesome one, you go the way to yourself! And past yourself and your seven devils leads your way!
A heretic will you be to yourself, and a wizard and a soothsayer, and a fool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain.
Ready must you be to burn yourself in your own flame; how could you become new if you have not first become ashes!
You lonesome one, you go the way of the creating one: a God will you create for yourself out of your seven devils!
You lonesome one, you go the way of the loving one: you love yourself, and on that account despise you yourself, as only the loving ones despise.
To create, desires the loving one, because he despises! What knows he of love who has not been obliged to despise just what he loved!
With your love, go into your isolation, my brother, and with your creating; and late only will justice limp after you.
With my tears, go into your isolation, my brother. I love him who seeks to create beyond himself, and thus succumbs.
Thus spoke Zarathustra.