good fish; but always did I draw up the head of some ancient God.
Thus did the sea give a stone to the hungry one. And they themselves may well originate from the sea.
Certainly, one finds pearls in them: thereby they are the more like hard molluscs. And instead of a soul, I have often found in them salt slime.
They have learned from the sea also its vanity: is not the sea the peacock of peacocks?
Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes does it spread out its tail; never does it tire of its lace-fan of silver and silk.
Disdainfully does the buffalo glance thereat, nigh to the sand with its soul, closer still to the thicket, nighest, however, to the swamp.
What is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour to it! This parable I speak to the poets.
Their spirit itself is the peacock of peacocks, and a sea of vanity!
Spectators seeks the spirit of the poet- should they even be buffaloes!-
But of this spirit became I weary; and I see the time coming when it will become weary of itself.
Yes, changed have I seen the poets, and their glance turned towards themselves.
Penitents of the spirit have I seen appearing; they grew out of the poets.-
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
