What did Nietzsche think of envy?
 When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of his home and went into the mountains. Here he enjoyed his spirit and his solitude and did not tire of it for ten years. But at last his heart was transformed - and one morning he got up with the dawn, stood before the sun and said to it thus:
“You great star! How lucky would you be if you didn't have the one you shine!
Ten years you came up here to my cave: you would have been fed up with your light and this path without me, my eagle and my snake.
But we waited for you every morning, took away your excess and blessed you for it.
Please refer! I am tired of my wisdom, like the bee that has gathered too much honey, I need hands that stretch out.
I want to give away and distribute until the wise among men are once again happy in their folly and the poor are once again happy in their wealth.
To do this I have to go into the depths: as you do in the evening when you go behind the sea and still bring light to the underworld, you abundant star!
I have to, like you, go underas the people call it, whom I want to go down to.
So bless me, you calm eye, which can see too great happiness without envy!
Bless the cup, which wants to overflow, so that the water flows golden from it and everywhere carries the reflection of your bliss!
Please refer! This cup wants to be empty again, and Zarathustra wants to become human again. "
- So began Zarathustra's downfall.
 Zarathustra went down the mountains alone and no one met him. But when he got into the woods, an old man suddenly stood in front of him, who had left his holy hut to look for roots in the forest. And thus said the old man to Zarathustra:
“This wanderer is no stranger to me: he passed here many years ago. His name was Zarathustra; but he has changed.
Back then you carried your ashes to the mountains: do you want to carry your fire into the valleys today? Do you not fear the arsonist's punishments?
Yes, I know Zarathustra. His eyes are pure and there is no disgust on his mouth. Doesn't he therefore walk like a dancer?
Zarathustra is transformed, Zarathustra became a child, Zarathustra is an awake one: what do you want now with the sleeping?
As in the sea you lived in solitude, and the sea carried you. Don't you want to go ashore? Don't you want to drag your own body again? "
Zarathustra replied: "I love people."
“Why,” said the saint, “did I go into the forest and into the wilderness? Wasn't it because I loved people too much?
Now I love God: I don't love people. Man is too imperfect a thing for me. Love for people would kill me. "
Zarathustra replied: “What did I say of love! I bring people a present! "
"Don't give them anything," said the saint. »Better take something from them and carry it with them - that will do them the best: if only it does you good!
And if you want to give them, don't give more than an alms and let them beg for it! "
“No,” answered Zarathustra, “I do not give alms. I'm not poor enough for that. "
The saint laughed at Zarathustra and said thus: “See that they accept your treasures! They are suspicious of the hermits and do not believe that we are coming to give.
Our steps sound too lonely to them through the streets. And how  when they hear a man walking in their beds at night long before the sun rises, they probably ask themselves: where is the thief going?
Do not go to the people and stay in the forest! Better go to the animals! Why don't you want to be like me - a bear among bears, a bird among birds? "
"And what is the saint doing in the forest?" Asked Zarathustra.
The saint replied, “I make songs and sing them, and when I make songs I laugh, cry and grumble: so I praise God.
With singing, crying, laughing and humming, I praise the God who is my God. But what are you bringing us as a present? "
When Zarathustra had heard these words, he greeted the saint and said: “What would I have to give you! But let me know that I'm not taking anything from you! ”And so they parted from one another, the old man and the man, laughing, like two boys laughing.
But when Zarathustra was alone, he said to his heart: “Should it be possible! This old saint has not yet heard in his forest that God dead is! «-
When Zarathustra came to the next town, which is by the woods, there he found a great number of people gathered in the marketplace: for it had been promised that one should see a tightrope walker. And Zarathustra said thus to the people:
I teach you the superman. Man is something to be overcome. What did you do to overcome it?
All beings up to now have created something beyond themselves: and you want to be the ebb of this great flood and would rather go back to the animals than conquer humans?
What is the monkey to man? A laugh or a painful shame. And that is exactly what man should be for the superman: a laugh or a painful shame.
You made the way from worm to human, and much of you is still worm. Once you were apes, and even now man is more ape than any ape.
But whoever is the wisest of you is only a dichotomy and a hybrid of plant and ghost. But do I tell you to become ghosts or plants?
See, I am teaching you the superman!
The superman is the meaning of the earth. Your will say: the superman be the meaning of the earth!
I swear to you, my brothers, stay true to the earth and do not believe those who speak to you of unearthly hopes! They are poisoners, whether they know it or not.
It is those who despise life, those who die and are poisoned themselves, of whom the earth is tired: so let them go!
Once the iniquity against God was the greatest iniquity, but God died, and with it these wicked ones died too. To do wrong on the earth is now the most terrible and the bowels of the unsearchable are to be valued more highly than the meaning of the earth!
Once the soul looked contemptuously at the body: and then this contempt was the highest - it wanted him thin, hideous, starved. So she thought of slipping away from him and the earth.
Oh this soul itself was still thin, hideous and starved: and cruelty was the lust of this soul!
But you too, my brothers, tell me: what does your body tell of your soul? Is not your soul poverty and filth and a wretched ease?
Verily, man is a filthy stream. You have to be a sea to be able to absorb a dirty stream without becoming unclean.
See, I teach you the superman: he is this sea, in him your great contempt can go under.
What is the greatest thing that you can experience? This is the hour of great contempt. The hour when your happiness becomes disgusting to you as well as your reason and your virtue.
The hour when you say: “What is my happiness! It is poverty and filth and a pitiful comfort. But my happiness should justify existence itself! "
The hour when you say: What is my reason! Does it desire knowledge as the lion desires its food? It is poverty and filth and a pitiful comfort! «
The hour when you say, “What is my virtue! It hasn't made me race yet. How tired am I of my good and my bad! All of that is poverty and filth and a pitiful comfort! "
The hour when you say: What is my righteousness! I do not see that I am embers and coal. But the righteous are embers and coal! "
The hour when you say: "What is the matter of my compassion! Isn't compassion the cross nailed to the one who loves people? But my pity is not a crucifixion. "
Did you already speak like that? Did you already scream like that? Oh, that I should have heard you scream like that!
Not your sin - your frugality screams to heaven, your avarice even in your sin screams to heaven!
Where is the lightning bolt that licks you with its tongue? Where's the madness you should be vaccinated with?
See, I teach you the superman: it is this lightning bolt, it is this madness! -
When Zarathustra had spoken in this way, one of the people shouted: “We have now heard enough about the tightrope walker; now let us see him too! ”And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the tightrope walker, who believed that the word was meant for him, set to work.
But Zarathustra looked at the people and wondered. Then he said thus:
Man is a rope, tied between animal and superman - a rope over an abyss.
A dangerous crossing, a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous looking back, a dangerous shuddering and stopping.
What is great about a person is that he is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in a person is that he is a crossing and a Downfall is. 
I love those who do not know how to live, except as perishing, for it is those who are passing over.
I love the great despisers because they are the great worshipers and arrows of longing for the other bank.
I love those who do not first look for a reason to go under and to be victims behind the stars: but who sacrifice themselves to the earth so that the earth will one day become the superman.
I love him who lives so that he may know and who wants to know so that the superman may one day live. And so he wants his downfall.
I love the one who works and invents, that he prepares the building of the house for the superman and for him earth, animals and plants: for this is how he wants his downfall.
I love him who loves his virtue: for virtue is the will to doom and an arrow of longing.
I love him who does not keep a drop of spirit for himself, but wants to be completely the spirit of his virtue: so he walks as a spirit over the bridge.
I love him who turns his virtue into his inclination and his fate: so he wants to live for the sake of his virtue and no longer live.
I love the one who doesn't want too many virtues. One virtue is more virtue than two, because it is more of a knot upon which doom hangs.
I love those whose souls are wasted, who do not want thanks and do not give back: because they always give and do not want to preserve themselves.
I love those who are ashamed when the die falls to their luck and who then asks: Am I a wrong player? - because he wants to perish.
I love the one who throws golden words ahead of his deeds and still keeps more than he promises: because he wants his downfall.
I love him who justifies the future and redeems the past: for he wants to perish in the present.
I love him who chastises his God because he loves his God: for he must perish at the anger of his God. 
I love him whose soul is deep in the wound, and who can perish from a little experience: so he likes to cross the bridge.
I love him whose soul is so full that he forgets himself and all things are in him: so all things become his downfall.
I love him who is free of spirit and free heart: so his head is only the bowels of his heart, but his heart drives him to perdition.
I love all those who are like heavy drops, falling one by one from the dark cloud that hangs over man: they proclaim that lightning is coming and perish as heralds.
See, I am a preacher of lightning, and a heavy drop from the cloud: but this lightning is called superman -
When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he looked again at the people and was silent. “There they stand,” he said to his heart, “there they laugh: they don't understand me, I'm not the mouth for these ears.
Do you first have to break their ears so that they learn to hear with their eyes? Do you have to rattle drums and penitential preachers? Or do you just believe the stammer?
They have something to be proud of. What do you call it that makes you proud? They call it education, it distinguishes them from the goatherds.
That's why they don't like to hear the word 'contempt' from themselves. So I want to speak to her proud one.
So I want to speak to them of the most contemptible: but that is the last man.«
And so Zarathustra said to the people:
It is time for man to set his goal. It is time for man to plant the seeds of his highest hope.
Its soil is still rich enough for that. But this soil will one day be poor and tame, and no tall tree will be able to grow out of it. 
Woe! The time will come when man does not throw the arrow of his longing over man and has forgotten the bowstring to buzz!
I tell you: one must still have chaos in oneself in order to be able to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: you still have chaos in you.
Woe! The time will come when man will no longer give birth to a star. Woe! The time of the most despicable human being comes, who can no longer despise himself.
Look! I show you the last man.
"What is love? What is creation What is longing? What is a star? «- so the last person asks and blinks.
The earth has then become small, and the last person who makes everything small hops on it. His sex is ineradicable like the earth flea; the last person lives the longest.
"We invented happiness" - say the last people and blink.
They have left the areas where it was hard to live: because you need warmth. You still love your neighbor and rub yourself against him: because you need warmth.
It is sinful to them to become ill and to have mistrust: one walks attentively. A gate that still stumbles over stones or people!
A little poison now and then: that makes pleasant dreams. And finally a lot of poison, for a pleasant dying.
You still work because work is entertainment. But you see to it that the conversation does not harm.
You don't get rich and poor anymore: both are too burdensome. Who still wants to rule? Who else will obey? Both are too burdensome.
No shepherd and a Herd! Everyone wants the same, everyone is the same: if you feel different, you willingly go to the madhouse.
"Everyone used to be crazy" - say the finest and blink.
One is clever and knows everything that has happened: so one has no end to scoff at. One still quarrels, but one soon reconciles - otherwise it spoils the stomach. 
You have your lust for the day and your lust for the night: but you honor your health.
"We invented happiness" - say the last people and blink. -
And here Zarathustra's first speech ended, which is also called "the preface": for at this point he was interrupted by the shouting and the pleasure of the crowd. "Give us these last people, O Zarathustra," - so they cried - "make us these last people! So we give you the superman! ”And all the people cheered and clicked their tongues. But Zarathustra was sad and said to his heart:
“You don't understand me: I'm not the mouth for those ears.
I lived too long in the mountains, I listened too much to streams and trees: now I am talking to them like goatherds.
My soul is motionless and as bright as the mountains in the morning. But they think I am cold and a mocker in terrible jokes.
And now they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh, they still hate me. There is ice in her laughter. "
But then something happened that made every mouth mute and every eye rigid. In the meantime the tightrope walker had started his work: he had stepped out of a small door and walked over the rope that was stretched between two towers, so that it hung over the market and the people. When he was just in the middle of his path, the little door opened again, and a motley fellow, like a buffoon, jumped out and followed the first with quick steps.“Forward, Lamefoot,” cried his terrible voice, “forward, sloth, surreptitious trader, pale face! That I don't tickle you with my heel! What are you doing here between towers? You belong in the tower, you should be locked up, someone better than you are, you block the free path! ”- And with every word he came closer and closer to him: but when he was only one step behind him, it happened the terrible thing that made every mouth mute and every eye rigid - he uttered a shout like a devil and jumped over who was in his way. But the latter, when he saw his rival triumph, lost his head and the rope; he threw away his pole and shot down faster than it, like a vortex of arms and legs. The market and the people were like the sea when the storm hits it: everything fled apart and on top of one another, and mostly where the body had to fall.
But Zarathustra remained standing, and the body fell right next to him, badly battered and broken, but not yet dead. After a while the shattered consciousness returned and he saw Zarathustra kneeling beside him. “What are you doing there?” He said at last, “I knew for a long time that the devil would trip me up. Now he's dragging me to hell: do you want to stop him? "
“On my honor, friend,” replied Zarathustra, “none of that which you speak of does not exist: there is no devil and no hell. Your soul will be dead faster than your body: fear nothing more! "
The man looked up suspiciously. “If you speak the truth,” he said, “I will not lose anything if I lose my life. I am little more than an animal that has been taught to dance through blows and small bites. "
"Not really," said Zarathustra; “You made your job out of danger, there is nothing to be despised about that. Now you are perishing in your profession: for that I want to bury you with my hands. "
When Zarathustra had said this, the dying man no longer answered; but he moved his hand as if he were looking for the hand of Zarathustra as a thank you. -
In the meantime evening came and the market hid itself in darkness: then the people ran away, for even curiosity and horror grow weary. But Zarathustra sat next to the dead man on earth and was lost in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it was night, and a cold wind blew over the lonely man. Then Zarathustra rose and said to his heart:
“Truly, Zarathustra made a fine fish-catch today! He did not catch a person, but he did catch a corpse. 
Human existence is uncanny and still meaningless: a buffoon can be his undoing.
I want to teach people the meaning of their being: which one is the superman, the lightning bolt from the dark cloud man.
But I am still far from them, and one sense does not speak to their senses. I am still a middle man between a fool and a corpse.
The night is dark, the ways of Zoroaster are dark. Come, you cold and stiff companion! I will carry you where I will bury you with my hands. "
When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he loaded the corpse on his back and set off. And he had not yet walked a hundred paces when a person crept up to him and whispered in his ear - and look! The one who spoke was the buffoon from the tower. "Go away from this city, O Zarathustra," said he; “Too many hate you here. The good and righteous hate you, and they call you their enemy and despiser; the believers of right faith hate you, and they call you the danger of the multitude. It was your luck that people laughed at you: and verily, you talked like a buffoon. It was your luck that you joined the dead dog; when you humbled yourself so much, you saved yourself for today. But go away from this city - or tomorrow I will leap over you, a living over a dead. 'And when he had said this, the person disappeared; But Zarathustra went on through the dark alleys.
At the gate of the city he met the gravedigger: they shone their torch in his face, he knew Zarathustra and made great mockery of him. “Zarathustra carries away the dead dog: good that Zarathustra became a gravedigger! Because our hands are too clean for this roast. Does Zarathustra want to steal his bite from the devil? Well then! And good luck with your meal! If only the devil isn't a better thief than Zarathustra! - he steals them both, he eats them both! 'And they laughed together and put their heads together.
Zarathustra didn't say a word about it and went on his way. When he had walked for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard the hungry howling of the wolves too much, and he was hungry himself. So he stopped at a lonely house in which a light was burning.
“I am overcome by hunger,” said Zarathustra, “like a robber. In the woods and swamps I get hungry, and in the dead of night.
My hunger has strange moods. Often he doesn't come to me until after the meal, and today he hasn't come all day: where was he staying? '
And with that Zarathustra struck the gate of the house. An old man appeared; he carried the light and asked: "Who will come to me and my bad sleep?"
"One living and one dead," said Zarathustra. “Give me something to eat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He who feeds the hungry refreshes his own soul: thus speaks wisdom. "
The old man went away, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra bread and wine. "It's a bad place for the hungry," he said; »That's why I live here. Beast and man come to me, the hermit. But bid your companion eat and drink too, he is more tired than you. "Zarathustra replied:" My companion is dead, I will hardly persuade him to do so. "" That is none of my business, "said the old man sullenly:" Who is mine Knock at home, must also take what I offer him. Eat and feel good! "
Then Zarathustra walked again for two hours and trusted the path and the light of the stars: for he was a habitual night-goer and loved to look every sleeper in the face. But when morning dawned, Zarathustra found himself in a deep forest, and no way was shown to him. So he put the dead man in a hollow tree at his head - because he wanted to protect him from the wolves - and himself on the ground and the moss. And immediately he fell asleep, tired body, but with an unmoved soul.
Zarathustra slept a long time, and not only did the dawn wash over his face, but also the morning. But at last his eye opened: astonished Zarathustra looked into the forest and the silence, astonished he looked inside himself. Then he rose quickly, like a seafarer suddenly seeing land, and shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And so he then spoke to his heart:
“It dawned on me: I need companions, and living - not dead companions and corpses that I carry with me wherever I want.
I need living companions who follow me because they want to follow themselves - and to where I want to go.
A light dawned on me: do not speak to the people Zarathustra, but to companions! Zarathustra should not be shepherd and dog of a herd!
To lure many away from the herd - I came to that. People and flocks shall be angry with me: Zarathustra will be called robbers, the shepherd.
I say shepherds, but they call themselves the good and the righteous. I say shepherds: but they call themselves the believers of right faith.
See the good and the just! Who do you hate the most? The one who breaks their tables of values, the crusher, the criminal - but that is the creator.
See the believers of all faith! Who do you hate the most? The one who breaks their tables of values, the crusher, the criminal - but that is the creator.
The creator seeks companions and not corpses, nor flocks and believers. The creator seeks the co-creators, those who write new values on new boards.
The creator seeks companions and co-harvesters: because everything is ripe for harvest with him. But he lacks the hundred sickles: so he pulls up ears of corn and is angry.
The creator seeks companions, and those who know how to sharpen their sickles. They will be called annihilators and despisers of good and evil. But it is the harvesters and the celebrants. 
Zarathustra is looking for co-workers, Zarathustra is looking for co-harvesters and co-celebrants: what does he have to do with flocks and shepherds and corpses!
And you, my first companion, are doing well! I buried you well in your hollow tree, well I hid you from the wolves.
But I'm parting from you, the time is up. Between dawn and dawn a new truth came to me.
I am not supposed to be a shepherd, not a gravedigger. I don't want to talk to the people again for once; for the last time I spoke to a dead man.
I want to join the creators, the harvesters, the celebrants: I want to show them the rainbow and all the stairs of the superman.
I will sing my song to the hermits and to the hermits; and for those who still have ears for the unheard of, I will make their heart heavy with my happiness.
I want to reach my goal, I go my way; I will jump over the hesitant and the sluggish. So let my course be their downfall! "
Zarathustra had spoken this to his heart when the sun was standing at noon: then he looked up questioningly - for he heard the sharp call of a bird above him. And see! An eagle swept through the air in wide circles, and a snake hung from it, not like a prey but a friend: for it was curled around its neck.
"They are my animals!" Said Zarathustra, and was delighted with all his heart.
“The proudest animal under the sun and the smartest animal under the sun - they have set out for customers.
They want to find out whether Zarathustra is still alive. Verily, am I still alive?
I found it more dangerous among people than among animals, Zarathustra walks dangerous paths. May my animals guide me! "
When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in the forest, sighed and said thus to his heart: 
“I want to be smarter! I want to be wise from the bottom up, like my snake!
But I ask the impossible: so I ask my pride to always go with my cleverness!
And if one day my cleverness leaves me - oh, it loves to fly away! - may my pride then still fly with my folly! «-
- So began Zarathustra's downfall. 
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