"One is always too many about me" - thinks the anchorite. "Always once one - that makes two in the long run!"
I and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be endured, if there were not a friend?
The friend of the hermit is always the third one: the third one is the cork which prevents the conversation of the two sinking into the depth.
Ah! there are too many depths for all hermits. Therefore, do they long so much for a friend and for his elevation.
Our faith in others betrays wherein we would rather have faith in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.
And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And often we attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.
"Be at least my enemy!" - thus speaks the true reverence, which does not venture to solicit friendship.
If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war for him: and in order to wage war, one must be capable of being an enemy.
One ought still to honor the enemy in one's friend. Can you go nigh to your friend, and not go over to him?
In one's friend one shall have one's best enemy. You shall be closest to him with your heart when you withstand him.
You would wear no raiment before your friend? It is in honor of your friend that you show yourself to him as you art? But he wishes you to the devil on that account!
He who makes no secret of himself shocks: so much reason have you to fear nakedness! Indeed, if you were gods, you could then be ashamed of clothing!
You can not adorn yourself fine enough for your friend; for you shall be to him an arrow and a longing for the overman.
Saw you ever your friend asleep - to know how he looks? What is usually the countenance of your friend? It is your own countenance, in a coarse and imperfect mirror.
Saw you ever your friend asleep? Were you not dismayed at your friend looking so? O my friend, man is something that has to be surpassed.
In divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master: not everything must you wish to see. Your dream shall disclose to you what your friend does when awake.
Let your pity be a divining: to know first if your friend wants pity. Perhaps he loves in you the unmoved eye, and the look of eternity.
Let your pity for your friend be hid under a hard shell; you shall bite out a tooth upon it. Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness.
Are you pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to your friend? Many a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his friend's emancipator.
Are you a slave? Then you can not be a friend. are you a tyrant? Then you can not have friends.
Far too long has there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman. On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knows only love.
In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she does not love. And even in woman's conscious love, there is still always surprise and lightning and night, along with the light.
As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats and birds. Or at the best, cows.
As yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, you men, who of you is capable of friendship?
Oh! your poverty, you men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as you give to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have become poorer thereby.
There is comradeship: may there be friendship!
Thus spoke Zarathustra.