couch, took a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smell pleasant. Then did his animals think the time had come to speak to him.
"O Zarathustra," said they, "now have you lain thus for seven days with heavy eyes: will you not set yourself again upon your feet?
Step out of your cave: the world waits for you as a garden. The wind plays with heavy fragrance which seeks for you; and all brooks would like to run after you.
All things long for you, since you have remained alone for seven days- step forth out of your cave! All things want to be your physicians!
Did perhaps a new knowledge come to you, a bitter, grievous knowledge? Like leavened dough lay you, your soul arose and swelled beyond all its bounds.-"
-O my animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let me listen! It refreshes me so to hear your talk: where there is talk, there is the world as a garden to me.
How charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words and tones rainbows and seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated?
To each soul belongs another world; to each soul is every other soul a back-world.
Among the most alike does semblance deceive most delightfully: for the small gap is most difficult to bridge over.
For me- how could there be an outside-of-me? There is no outside! But this we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that we forget!
Have not names and tones been given to things that man may refresh himself with them? It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewith dances man over everything.
