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08 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · Logic Library

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  Part one, Chapter eight, The Tree on the Hill. Zarathustra's eye had
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  perceived that a certain youth avoided him, and as he walked alone one evening
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  over the hills surrounding the town called the Pied Cow, behold there he found
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  the youth sitting, leaning against a tree, and gazing with a wearied look
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  into the valley. Zarathustra thereupon laid hold of the tree beside which the youth
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  sat, and spake. Thus, if I wished to shake this tree with
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  my hands, I should not be able to do so. But the wind,
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  which we see not troubleth and bendeth as it listeth. We are sorest
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  bent and troubled by invisible hands. Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said,
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  I hear Zarathustra, And just now was I thinking of him? Zarathustra
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  answered, why art thou frightened on that account? But it is the same
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  with man as with the tree. The more he seeketh to rise into the
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  height and light, the more vigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward into
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  the dark and deep into the evil. Yea, into the evil, cried
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  the youth. How is it possible that thou hast discovered my soul. Zarathustra
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  smiled and said, many a soul one will never discover unless one first invent
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  it. Yea into the evil, cried the youth. Once more, thou
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  saidst the truth, Zarathustra, I trust myself no longer, since I sought
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  to rise into the height, And nobody trusteth me any longer. How doth
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  that happen? I change too quickly. My to day refuteth my yesterday.
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  I often overleap the steps when I clamber. For so doing, none of
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  the steps pardons me. When aloft, I find myself always alone. No
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  one speaketh unto me. The frost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do
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  I seek on the height? My contempt and longing increase together. The higher
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  I clamber, The more do I despise him who clambereth? What doth he
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  seek on the height? How ashamed am I of my clambering and stumbling?
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  How I mock at my violent panting? How I hate him who flieth?
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  How tired am I on the height. Here the youth was silent, and
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  Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside which they stood, and spake. Thus this tree
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  standeth lonely up here on the hills. It hath grown up high above man
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  and beast, and if it wanted to speak, it would have none who
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  could understand it. So high hath it grown. Now it waiteth and waiteth
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  for what doth it wait It dwelleth too close to the seat of the clouds.
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  It waiteth, perhaps for the first lightning. When Zarathustra had said this,
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  the youth called out with violent gestures. Yea, Zarathustra, Thou speakest
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  the truth my destruction I longed for when I desired to be on the height,
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  And thou art the lightning for which I waited. Lo, what have
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  I been since thou appeared amongst us? It is mine envy of thee that
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  hast destroyed me. Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra,
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  however, put his arm about him and led the youth away with him,
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  And when they had walked awhile together, Zarathustra began to speak. Thus it
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  rendeth my heart better than thy words express it. Thine eyes tell me all
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  thy danger. As yet thou art not free, Thou still seekest freedom too,
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  unslept hath thy seeking made thee and too wakeful on the open height.
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  Whilst thou be for the stars, thirsteth thy soul, but thy bad impulses
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  also thirst for freedom. Thy wild dogs want liberty. They bark for joy
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  in their cellar. When thy spirit endeavoreth to open all prison doors. Still
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  art thou a prisoner? It seemeth to me, who deviseth liberty for himself.
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  Ah sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also deceitful and wicked.
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  To purify himself is still necessary for the freedmen of the spirit. Much
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  of the prison and the mold still remaineth in him. Pure hath his eyes
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  still to become YEA, I know thy danger, but by my love and
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  hope I conjure THEE. Cast not thy love and hope away. Noble,
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  thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel THEE still, though they
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  bear THEE a grudge and cast evil looks. Know this that to everybody a
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  noble one standeth in the way. Also to the good a noble one standeth
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  in the way. And even when they call him a good man, they
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  want thereby to put him aside. The new would the nobleman create and a
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  new virtue. The old wanteth the good man, and that the old should
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  be conserved. But it is not the danger of the nobleman to turn a
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  good man, but lest he should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or
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  a destroyer. Ah, I have no noble ones who lost their highest hope,
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  and then they disparaged all high hopes. Then lived they shamelessly in temporary
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  pleasures, and beyond the day had hardly an aim. Spirit is also voluptuousness.
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  Said they then broke the wings of their spirit, and now it creepeth
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  about and defileth where it gnaweth. Once they thought of becoming heroes. But
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  sensualists are they now a trouble and a terror is a hero to them.
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  But by my love and hope I conjure thee cast not away the hero in
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  thy soul, maintain wholly thy highest hope. Thus spake Zarathustra. End of
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  Part one, Chapter eight