—Such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt!” Thus speaketh Zarathustra the godless.—
But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! It is still an hour too early for me here.
Mine own forerunner am I among this people, mine own cockcrow in dark lanes.
But THEIR hour cometh! And there cometh also mine! Hourly do they become smaller, poorer, unfruitfuller,—poor herbs! poor earth!
And SOON shall they stand before me like dry grass and prairie, and verily, weary of themselves—and panting for FIRE, more than for water!
O blessed hour of the lightning! O mystery before noontide!—Running fires will I one day make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues:—
—Herald shall they one day with flaming tongues: It cometh, it is nigh, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!
Thus spake Zarathustra.