3 of 6 in Chapter L. ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT350 of 593 in work
Winter's Faithful Poverty
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

A reflection on the solitary joys of winter and the morning, where the author finds a wicked happiness in the silence and harshness of the elements.

...grudge against all ardent, steaming, steamy fire-idols. Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I now mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my house. Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed—: there, still laugheth and wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth. I, a—creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and if ever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in my winter-bed.
A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my poverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me. With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a cold bath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate. Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let the heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight. For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the pail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:— Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me, the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the whitehead,— —The winter-sky, the…
Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself? Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,—all good roguish things spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so—for once only! A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:— —Like it to stifle one’s sun, and one’s inflexible solar will: verily, this art and this winter-roguishness...
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The Clear Silence
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

The author reflects on the strategic use of silence and 'winter-roguishness' to protect one's ultimate will from the scrutiny of others. By appearing clear yet remaining deep, the individual outwits those who would attempt to interfere with their inner purpose.

...emerge from ashy-grey twilight. For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the pail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:— Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me, the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the whitehead,— —The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its sun! Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself?
Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,—all good roguish things spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so—for once only! A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:— —Like it to stifle one’s sun, and one’s inflexible solar will: verily, this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL! My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not to betray itself by silence. Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: all those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude. That no one might see down…
Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his water muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder. But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers: precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish! But the clear, the honest, the transparent—these are for me the wisest silent ones: in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the clearest water doth not—betray it.— Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead...
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The Concealed Depth
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

A reflection on the necessity of depth and concealment, where the soul's most profound truths are hidden beneath a mask of clarity to protect them from being violated.

...h diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: all those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude. That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate will—for that purpose did I devise the long clear silence. Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his water muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder. But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers: precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!
But the clear, the honest, the transparent—these are for me the wisest silent ones: in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the clearest water doth not—betray it.— Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead above me! Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness! And MUST I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold—lest my soul should be ripped up?
MUST I not wear stilts, that they may OVERLOOK my long legs—all those enviers and injurers around me? Those dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls—how COULD their envy endure my happiness! Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks—and NOT that my mountain windeth all the solar girdles around it! They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know NOT that I also travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds. They commiserate also my...
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Winter's Wise Concealment
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

Zarathustra describes how he conceals his happiness and strength behind a facade of suffering to protect himself from the envy and suffocating pity of others.

...gy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls—how COULD their envy endure my happiness! Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks—and NOT that my mountain windeth all the solar girdles around it! They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know NOT that I also travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds. They commiserate also my accidents and chances:—but MY word saith: “Suffer the chance to come unto me: innocent is it as a little child!”
How COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it accidents, and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling snowflakes! —If I did not myself commiserate their PITY, the pity of those enviers and injurers! —If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, and patiently LET myself be swathed in their pity! This is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that it CONCEALETH NOT its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not its chilblains either. To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it is the flight FROM the sick ones. Let them HEAR me chattering and sighing with…
LI. ON PASSING-BY. Thus slowly wandering through many peoples and divers cities, did Zarathustra return by round-about roads to his mountains and his cave. And behold, thereby came he unawares also to the gate of the GREAT CITY. Here, however, a foaming fool, with extended hands, sprang forward to him and stood in his way. It was the same fool whom the people called “the ape of Zarathustra:” for he had learned from him something of the expression and modulation of language, and perhaps li...
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Now entering Chapter LI. ON PASSING-BY
City of Slaughtered Spirit
Friedrich Nietzsche
Thus Spake Zarathustra

A scathing condemnation of the city as a 'hell for anchorites' where great thoughts and sentiments are degraded into 'limp dirty rags' for public consumption. The author urges the free spirit to avoid this 'shambles of the spirit' where the collective atmosphere stifles individual greatness.

...e he unawares also to the gate of the GREAT CITY. Here, however, a foaming fool, with extended hands, sprang forward to him and stood in his way. It was the same fool whom the people called “the ape of Zarathustra:” for he had learned from him something of the expression and modulation of language, and perhaps liked also to borrow from the store of his wisdom. And the fool talked thus to Zarathustra: O Zarathustra, here is the great city: here hast thou nothing to seek and everything to lose.
Why wouldst thou wade through this mire? Have pity upon thy foot! Spit rather on the gate of the city, and—turn back! Here is the hell for anchorites’ thoughts: here are great thoughts seethed alive and boiled small. Here do all great sentiments decay: here may only rattle-boned sensations rattle! Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the spirit? Steameth not this city with the fumes of slaughtered spirit? Seest thou not the souls hanging like limp dirty rags?—And they make newspapers also out of these rags!
Hearest thou not how spirit hath here become a verbal game? Loathsome verbal swill doth it vomit forth!—And they make newspapers also out of this verbal swill. They hound one another, and know not whither! They inflame one another, and know not why! They tinkle with their pinchbeck, they jingle with their gold. They are cold, and seek warmth from distilled waters: they are inflamed, and seek coolness from frozen spirits; they are all sick and sore through public opinion. All lusts and vices...
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