Let man fear woman when she loveth: then she sacrificeth anything, and nothing else hath value for her.
Let man fear woman when she hateth: for in the heart of their heart, man is only evil, but woman is base.
Whom doth woman hate the most?—Thus spake the iron unto the loadstone: "I hate thee most because thou attractest, but art not strong enough to draw unto thee."
Man's happiness is: "I will." Woman's happiness is: "He will."
"Behold, this moment the world hath become perfect!"—thus thinketh every woman, when she obeyeth from sheer love.
And woman must obey and find a depth for her surface. Surface is woman's mood, a foam driven to and fro over a shallow water.
But man's mood is deep, his stream roareth in underground caves: woman divineth his power, but understandeth it not.'
Then the little old woman answered me: 'Many fine things hath Zarathustra said, and especially for those who are young enough.
Strange it is, that Zarathustra little knoweth women, and yet is right regarding them! Is that because with woman nothing is impossible?
And now take as my thanks a little truth. For I am old enough for that.
