Why steal you along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra? And what hide you so carefully under your mantle?
Is it a treasure that has been given you? Or a child that has been born you? Or go you yourself on a thief's errand, you friend of the evil?-
Truly, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that has been given me: it is a little truth which I carry.
But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its mouth, it screams too loudly.
As I went on my way alone today, at the hour when the sun declines, there met me an old woman, and she spoke thus to my soul:
"Much has Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spoke he to us concerning woman."
And I answered her: "Concerning woman, one should only talk to men."
"Talk also to me of woman," said she; "I am old enough to forget it presently."
And I obliged the old woman and spoke thus to her:
Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman has one solution - it is called pregnancy.
Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is woman for man?
Two different things wants the true man: danger and diversion. Therefore wants he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.
Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the warrior: all else is folly.
Too sweet fruits - these the warrior likes not. Therefore likes he woman; - bitter is even the sweetest woman.
Better than man does woman understand children, but man is more childish than woman.
In the true man there is a child hidden: it wants to play. Up then, you women, and discover the child in man!
A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone, illumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.
Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: "May I bear the overman!"
In your love let there be valour! With your love shall you assail him who inspires you with fear!
In your love be your honor! Little does woman understand otherwise about honor. But let this be your honor: always to love more than you are loved, and never be the second.
Let man fear woman when she loves: then makes she every sacrifice, and everything else she regards as worthless.
Let man fear woman when she hates: for man in his innermost soul is merely evil; woman, however, is mean.
Whom hates woman most? - Thus spoke the iron to the loadstone: "I hate you most, because you attract, but are too weak to draw to you."
The happiness of man is, "I will." The happiness of woman is, "He will."
"Behold. "Behold. now has the world become perfect!" - thus thinks every woman when she obeys with all her love.
Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface is woman's soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.
Man's soul, however, is deep, its current gushes in subterranean caverns: woman surmises its force, but comprehends it not.-
Then answered me the old woman: "Many fine things has Zarathustra said, especially for those who are young enough for them.
Strange! Zarathustra knows little about woman, and yet he is right about them! does this happen, because with women nothing is impossible?
And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it!
Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too loudly, the little truth."
"Give me, woman, your little truth!" said I. And thus spoke the old woman:
"You go to women? Do not forget your whip!" -
Thus spoke Zarathustra.