第8章 READING AND WRITING 阅读和写作
Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the reading idlers.
He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another century of readers and spirit itself will stink.
Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run not only writing but also thinking.
Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh populace.
He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read, but learnt by heart.
In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that route thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those spoken to should be big and tall.
The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.
I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage which scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins it wanteth to laugh.
I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I see beneath me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh that is your thunder-cloud.
Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward because I am exalted.
Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays and tragic realities.
Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive so wisdom wisheth us; she is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.
Ye tell me, "Life is hard to bear." But for what purpose should ye have your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening?
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 gravity!
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.
Thus spake Zarathustra.
所有关于写作的东西，我只喜爱那些作者用自己的心血创作出来的东西。用血来写作，你就会发现那种血就是精神。
去理解不为人所熟知的血并不是一项简单的任务；我讨厌所有通过阅读来打发时间的人。
对读者了如指掌的作者，不会给读者创作作品。在另一个世纪里，这样的读者——还有精神会散发出招人厌恶的恶臭。
所有被允许学习阅读的人，在长期的学习过程之中，不仅仅会毁掉写作，同时也会毁掉思考。
曾经，精神就是上帝，然后，它变成了人，现在，它甚至变成了人民群众。
那些作者用自己的心血和箴言写出来的东西，并不想被其他人拿来阅读，而是让人类拿来用心去铭记。
山峰和山峰之间最短的距离就是两个山峰顶点之间的距离，但是，如果你想采用这样的路线，你必须拥有足够长的腿。格言应该算是山峰的顶点，而听从这些格言的聆听者们应当是伟大高耸的。
稀有并且纯粹的空气，时刻面临着危险，精神里充满了快乐的邪恶：所有的这一切都是彼此匹配的。
我想让妖怪把我团团围住，因为我是个很有胆量的人。这种胆量可以吓退鬼魂，而且可以为自己创造妖怪——这种胆量需要大笑。
我的感觉不再跟你们的感觉有任何的相同之处；我笑话处于我下方云朵的黑暗和笨重——那就是你的雷雨云。
当你们渴望被高高抬起来的时候，你们仰着脑袋看，但是，我却在朝下看，因为我在高处。
在你们当中，有谁能够做到在大笑的同时，处于高处？
那个攀登上了最高耸的山峰的人，笑看所有悲痛的戏剧和残酷的现实。
用胆量、无忧无虑、轻蔑的、暴虐的——智慧教导我们如是；智慧是一位女士，她只热爱战士。
你们告诉我，“生命是难以承受的重负”。那么究竟是什么原因让你们在清晨骄傲自满，在夜晚卑躬屈膝呢？
生命是难以承受的重负：不要摆出那种撒娇的姿态！我们都是驮着沉重的负担的驮马。我们和那些在一滴露珠的压迫下而震颤的红色花蕾，到底有什么相同之处呢？
我们热爱生命一点也没有错：但是我们热爱它并不是因为我们习惯于生活，而是因为我们习惯于爱。
在爱意中，往往会拥有一些疯狂。但是，在爱意的疯狂当中也时常拥有一些理智。
对于我这个非常热爱生命的人来说，我认为蝴蝶、肥皂泡泡以及所有在人世间同它们拥有相似特征的事物似乎是最能享受幸福的。
当查拉图斯特拉看到这些愚笨、漂亮、生动的小精灵的时候——他被感动的哭泣了起来，并且唱起了歌。
我应该只信仰一个懂得该如何跳舞的上帝。
当我看到我的恶魔的时候，我发现他非常严肃、一丝不苟、深沉、庄重：这是一种具有严重性的精神——在它的渗透下，任何事物都会倒下。
我们去杀戮，并不是因为愤怒的指使，而是因为笑容。快来吧！让我们尽情地杀戮严重的精神吧！
我学会了走路；从那个时候开始，我就让我自己奔跑。我学会了飞翔；从那个时候开始，我不会因为为了更换位置，而事先逼迫自己。
现在我是如此的轻薄，现在我能够自由地翱翔；现在我看到我在自己的上方。现在一个上帝正在我的身上跳舞。
查拉图斯特拉如是说。