What language will such a spirit speak when he speaks with himself alone?

The language of the dithyramb. I am the inventor of the dytiramb. Hear how Zarathustra speaks with himself before sunrise: such an emerald happiness, such a divine tenderness still had no tongue before me.

Even the deepest melancholy of such a Dionysos still becomes a dithyramb; I take, as an indication, the Night Song -the immortal lament that through his superabundance of light and power, through his nature as a sun, he is condemned not to love.

It is night: now do all leaping fountains speak louder. And my soul too is a leaping fountain.

It is night: only now do all songs of lovers awaken. And my soul too is the song of a lover.

Something unguenched, unguenchable is in me, that wants to speak out. Acraving ofr love is in me that itself speaks the language of love.

Light am I: ah, that I were night! But this is my solitude, that I am girded round with light.

 

  *NIetszche, Thus spoke Zarathustra