"Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou–coloured vapours did they
seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away from

himself,–thereupon he created the world.
Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering and
forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world once
seem to me.

This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction’s image and
imperfect image–an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:–thus did
the world once seem to me."

"Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are all of
us fine sumpter asses and assesses.

What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because a
drop of 
dew hath formed upon it?

It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we
are wont to love.

There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some
method in madness.

And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles, and
whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.

To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit about–that
moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.

I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.
And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound, solemn:
he was the spirit of gravity–through him all things fall.

Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit of

I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned to fly;
since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot.
Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself. Now there
danceth a God in me.–"

From the book:



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