“Hunger attacks me," said Zarathustra, "like a robber. Among forests and swamps my hunger attacks me, and late in the night.”

“This book belongs to the most rare of men. Perhaps not one of them is yet alive. It is possible that they may be among those who understand my “Zarathustra”: how could I confound myself with those who are now sprouting ears?—First the day after tomorrow must come for me. Some men are born posthumously.”

“When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people, and was silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart; "there they laugh: they do not understand me; I am not the mouth for these ears.”

“In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she does not love. And even in woman's conscious love, there is still always attack and lightning and night, along with the light.”

“Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for the sake of truth to suffer hunger in one's soul?”

“When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago.”

“I attack only things that are triumphant — if necessary, I wait until they become triumphant.”