--- title: "Thus Spake Zarathustra" author: "Friedrich Nietzsche" translator: "Thomas Common" languages: [en] shelf: "Philosophy" section: 35 of 95 url: https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/35/ cite: "Friedrich Nietzsche, tr. Thomas Common, Thus Spake Zarathustra, section 35. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/35/" --- # Thus Spake Zarathustra *Friedrich Nietzsche, tr. Thomas Common* A prophet comes down from his mountain to teach the overman, in sermons and songs. ## 35. XXXI. The Night-Song Source: https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/35/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/35/#p-N [¶0] ‘Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain. [¶1] ‘Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving one. [¶2] Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for love is within me, which speaketh itself the language of love. [¶3] Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is my lonesomeness to be begirt with light! [¶4] Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would I suck at the breasts of light! [¶5] And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms aloft!—and would rejoice in the gifts of your light. [¶6] But I live in mine own light, I drink again into myself the flames that break forth from me. [¶7] I know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than receiving. [¶8] It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes and the brightened nights of longing. [¶9] Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the darkening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh, the violent hunger in satiety! [¶10] They take from me: but do I yet touch their soul? There is a gap ‘twixt giving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over. [¶11] A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should like to injure those I illumine; I should like to rob those I have gifted:—thus do I hunger for wickedness. [¶12] Withdrawing my hand when another hand already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus do I hunger for wickedness! [¶13] Such revenge doth mine abundance think of: such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness. [¶14] My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing; my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance! [¶15] He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand and heart become callous by very dispensing. [¶16] Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for the trembling of filled hands. [¶17] Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones! [¶18] Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is dark do they speak with their light—but to me they are silent. [¶19] Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one: unpityingly doth it pursue its course. [¶20] Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart, cold to the suns:—thus travelleth every sun. [¶21] Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses: that is their travelling. Their inexorable will do they follow: that is their coldness. [¶22] Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that extract warmth from the shining ones! Oh, ye only drink milk and refreshment from the light’s udders! [¶23] Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth with the iciness! Ah, there is thirst in me; it panteth after your thirst! [¶24] ‘Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And thirst for the nightly! And lonesomeness! [¶25] ‘Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in me as a fountain,—for speech do I long. [¶26] ‘Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain. [¶27] ‘Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving one.— [¶28] Thus sang Zarathustra.