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With such sighing and chattering do I flee from their heated rooms. Let them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of my chilblains: "At the ice of knowledge will he yet FREEZE TO DEATH!" so they mourn. Meanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mine olive-mount: in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, and mock at all pity. Thus sang Zarathustra.
I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I run away from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him! With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm to the sunny corner of mine olive-mount. There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because he cleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises.
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