Will to Power Quotes in Thus Spoke Zarathustra
That is your entire will, you wisest men; it is a will to power; and that is so even when you talk of good and evil and of the assessment of values.
You want to create the world before which you can kneel: this is your ultimate hope and intoxication. […]
[W]hat the people believe to be good and evil betrays to me an ancient will to power.
It was you, wisest men, who put such passengers in this boat and gave them splendour and proud names – you and your ruling will!
'Spirit of Gravity!’ I said angrily, 'do not treat this too lightly! Or I shall leave you squatting where you are, Lamefoot—and I have carried you high!
‘Behold this moment!' I went on. 'From this gateway Moment a long, eternal lane runs back: an eternity lies behind us.
'Must not all things that can run have already run along this lane? Must not all things that can happen have already happened, been done, run past?’
Whether one be servile before gods and divine kicks, or before men and the silly opinions of men: it spits at slaves of all kinds, this glorious selfishness!
Bad: that is what it calls all that is broken-down and niggardly-servile, unclear, blinking eyes, oppressed hearts, and that false, yielding type of man who kisses with broad, cowardly lips. […]
And he who declares the Ego healthy and holy and selfishness glorious – truly he, a prophet, declares too what he knows: 'Behold, it comes, it is near, the great noontide!'
Man is the cruellest animal towards himself; and […] all who call themselves "sinners" and “bearers of the Cross" and "penitents" […]
Ah, my animals, this alone have I learned, that the wickedest in man is necessary for the best in him,
that all that is most wicked in him is his best strength and the hardest stone for the highest creator; and that man must grow better and wickeder: […]
[I cried] ‘Alas, that his wickedest is so very small! Alas, that his best is so very small!’
If ever my anger broke graves open, moved boundary-stones, and rolled old shattered law-tables into deep chasms:
[…]
for I love even churches and the graves of gods, if only heaven is looking, pure-eyed, through their shattered roofs; I like to sit like grass and red poppies on shattered churches:
Oh how should I not lust for eternity and for the wedding ring of rings—the Ring of Recurrence!
When he was young, this god from the orient, he was hard and revengeful and built himself a Hell for the delight of his favourites.
But at length he grew old and soft and mellow and compassionate, more like a grandfather than a father, most like a tottery old grandmother.
Then he sat, shrivelled, in his chimney corner, fretting over his weak legs, world-weary, weary of willing, and one day suffocated through his excessive pity.'