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This book belongs to the very few. Perhaps none of them is even alive yet. They may be the ones who understand my Zarathustra: how could I confuse myself with those for whom ears are already growing today? - Only the day after tomorrow belongs to me. Some are born posthumously.
The conditions under which one understands me, and then understands me by necessity, I know only too well. One must be righteous in spiritual matters to the point of hardness in order to endure even my seriousness, my passion. One must be accustomed to living on mountains - to seeing the wretched contemporary chatter about politics and national selfishness below oneself. One must have become indifferent, one must never ask if the truth is useful, if it becomes a catastrophe for one... A preference of strength for questions for which no one today has the courage; the courage for the forbidden; the predetermination for the labyrinth. An experience from seven solitudes. New ears for new music. New eyes for the most distant things. A new conscience for truths that have hitherto remained silent. And the will to economy on a grand scale: to keep one's strength, one's enthusiasm together... The reverence for oneself; the love for oneself; the absolute freedom toward oneself...
Well then! These alone are my readers, my true readers, my preordained readers: what does the rest matter? - The rest is merely humanity. - One must be superior to humanity in strength, in height of soul, - through contempt...
Friedrich Nietzsche.