The self is made from many souls,
Of greater and of lesser worth,
Yet one is made to rule by birth:
The will of wills, the soul of souls.
The distance between high and low
Is stipulated from above:
The farthest sight and rarest love
Of what is best says Yes or No
To everything that's felt inside,
Thus honoring what it bestows.
A wealth of virtue overflows
In self-respect and inner pride
At mastery within the soul
Of courage, insight, sympathy,
And solitude — a certainty
That can't be lost or made a goal,
That overcomes all guilt and fears:
The noble soul itself reveres.
(cf. Beyond Good and Evil, Part Nine)
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Peter Saint-Andre > Writings > Nietzsche > Songs of Zarathustra