y belief
in the good! Ah, where is the lying innocence which I once possessed,
the innocence of the good and of their noble lies!

Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of truth: then did it
kick me on the face. Sometimes I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit--the truth.

Too much hath become clear unto me: now it doth not concern me any more.
Nothing liveth any longer that I love,--how should I still love myself?

'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do I wish; so wisheth
also the holiest. But alas! how have _I_ still--inclination?

Have _I_--still a goal? A haven towards which MY sail is set?

A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth WHITHER he saileth, knoweth what
wind is good, and a fair wind for him.

What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and flippant; an unstable
will; fluttering wings; a broken backbone.

This seeking for MY home: O Zarathustra, dost thou know that this
seeking hath been MY home-sickening; it eateth me up.

'WHERE is--MY home?' For it do I ask and seek, and have sought, but
have not found it. O eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O
eternal--in-vain!"

Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's countenance lengthened at his
words. "Thou art my shadow!" said he at last sadly.

"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wanderer! Thou hast had a
bad day: see that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!

To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last even a prisoner blessed.
Didst thou ever see how captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly,
they enjoy their new security.

Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee, a hard, rigorous
delusion! For now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
tempteth thee.

Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou forego and forget that
loss? Thereby--hast thou also lost thy way!

Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butterfly! wilt thou have a rest
and a home this evening? Then go up to my cave!

Thither leadeth the way to my cave. And now will I run quickly away from
thee again. Already lieth as it were a shadow upon me.

I will run alone, so that it may again become bright around me.
Therefore must I still be a long time merrily upon my legs. In the
evening, however, there will be--dancing with me!"--

Thus spake Zarathustra.

LXX. NOONTIDE.

--And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and was alone
and ever found himself again; he enjoyed and quaffed