Do not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths? The evidence teaches it, O Zarathustra,- your own evidence!"
-"And you yourself, finally," said Zarathustra, and turned towards the ugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his arm to the ass (for he gave it wine to drink). "Say, you nondescript, what have you been about!
You seem to me transformed, your eyes glow, the mantle of the sublime covers your ugliness: what did you do?
Is it then true what they say, that you have again awakened him? And why? Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with?
You yourself seem to me awakened: what did you do? why did you turn round? Why did you get converted? Speak, you nondescript!"
"O Zarathustra," answered the ugliest man, "you are a rogue!
Whether he yet lives, or again lives, or is thoroughly dead- which of us both knows that best? I ask you.
One thing however do I know,- from yourself did I learn it once, O Zarathustra: he who wants to kill most thoroughly, laughs.
'Not by wrath but by laughter does one kill'- thus spoke you once, O Zarathustra, you hidden one, you destroyer without wrath, you dangerous saint,- you are a rogue!"
Then, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished at such merely roguish answers, jumped back to the door