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28 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · Logic Library

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  Part two, Chapter twenty eight. The rabble life is well of delight,
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  But where the rabble also drink, there all fountains are poisoned. To everything
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  cleanly, I am well disposed, but I hate to see the grinning mouths
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  in the thirst of the unclean. They cast their eye down into the fountain,
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  and now glanceth up to me their odious smile out of the fountain.
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  The holy water have they poisoned with their lustfulness. And when they called their
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  filthy dreams delight, then poison they also the words indignant becometh a flame.
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  When they put their damp heart to the fire, the spirit itself bubbleth and
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  smoketh. When the rabble approacheth the fire, mawkish and over mellow becometh the
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  fruit in their hands, unsteady and withered. At the top doth their look
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  make the fruit tree. And many a one who hath turned away from life
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  hath only turned away from the rabble. He hated to share with them fountain,
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  flame and fruit. And many a one who hath gone into the wilderness
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  and suffered thirst with beasts of prey, disliked only to sit at the cistern
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  with filthy camel drivers, And many a one who hath come along as a
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  destroyer and as a hail storm to all corn fields, wanted merely to put
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  his foot into the jaws of the rabble, and thus stopped their throat.
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  And it is not the mouthful which hath most choked me to know that life
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  itself requireth enmity and death and torture crosses. But I asked once, and
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  suffocated almost with my question, what is the rabble? Also necessary for life?
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  Are poisoned fountains necessary in stinking fires, and filthy dreams, and maggots
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  in the bread of life? Not my hatred, but my loathing, not
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  hungrily at my life. Ah ofttimes became I weary of spirit when I found
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  even the rabble spiritual, and on the rulers turned I my back when I
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  saw what they now call ruling to traffic and bargain for power with the rabble
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  amongst peoples of a strange language. Did I dwell with stopped ears, so
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  that the language of their trafficking might remain strange unto me, and their bargaining
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  for power and holding my nose, I went moroselye through all yesterdays into days,
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  verily badly smell all yesterdays into days of the scribbling rabble, like a
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  cripple, become deaf and blind and dumb. Thus have I lived long that
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  I might not live with the power rabble, the scribe rabble, and the
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  pleasure rabble toilsomely did my spirit mounts and cautiously alms of delight were its refreshment
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  on the staff? Did life creep along with the blind one? What hath
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  happened unto me? How have I freed myself from loathing? Who hath rejuvenated
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  mine eye? How have I flown to the height where no rabble any longer
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  sit at the wells? Did my loathing itself create for me wings and fountain
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  divining powers? Verily to the loftiest height? Had I to fly to find
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  again the well of delight? Oh, I have founded my brethren here on
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  the loftiest height. Bubbleth up for me the well of delight? And there
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  is a life at whose waters none of the rabble drink with me? Almost
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  too violently dost thou flow for me, thou fountain of delight? And often
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  emptiest thou the goblet again in wanting to fill it? And yet I must
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  learn to approach thee more modestly, far too violently, doth my heart still
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  flow towards thee, my heart on which my summer burneth, my short,
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  hot melancholy over happy summer, How my summer heart longeth for thy coolness,
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  past the lingering distress of my spring, past the wickedness of my snowflakes.
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  In June summer, Have I become entirely and summer noontide a summer on the
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  loftiest height, with cold fountains and blissful stillness. Oh come, my friends,
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  that the stillness may become more blissful. For this is our height in
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  our home. Too high and steep do we here dwell for all uncleanly ones
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  and their thirst? Cast but your pure eyes into the well of my delight,
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  my friends, how could it become turbid? Thereby it shall laugh back
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  to you with its purity. On the tree of the future, build we
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  our nest eagles shall bring us lone one's food in their beaks. Verily,
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  no food of which thee impure could be fellow partakers fire would they think they
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  devoured and burned their mouths? Verily? No abodes do we here keep ready
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  for the impure an ice cave. To their bodies would our happiness be,
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  and to their spirits. And as strong winds will we live above them,
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  neighbors to the eagles, neighbors to the snow, neighbors to the sun.
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  Thus live the strong winds. And like a wind, will I one day
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  blow amongst them, and with my spirit take the breath from their spirit.
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  Thus willeth my future. Verily, A strong wind is Zarathustra to all low
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  places. And this council counseleeth he to his enemies, and to whatever spitteth
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  in s spewith, take care not to spit against the wind. Thus spake
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  Zarathustra. End of Chapter twenty eighth