Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my shame and all my 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 has become clear to me: now it does not concern me any more. Nothing lives 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 wishes 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 knows where he sails, knows what wind is good, and a fair wind for him.
What still remains to me? A heart weary and flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, do you know that this seeking has been my home-sickening; it eats 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 spoke the shadow, and Zarathustra's countenance lengthened at his words. "You are my shadow!" said he at last sadly.
"Your danger is not small, you free spirit and wanderer! you have had a bad day: see that a still worse evening does not overtake you!
To such unsettled ones as you, seems at last even a
