words are poor, despised, halting words: I am glad to take what falls from the table at your feast.
Yet with them I can still — tell the truth to hypocrites! Yes, my fish-bones, shells, and prickly leaves shall — tickle hypocrites' noses!
There is always bad air around you and around your feasts: for your lustful thoughts, your lies and secrets are in the air!
Only dare to believe in yourselves — in yourselves and in your entrails! He who does not believe in himself always lies.
You have put on the mask of a god, you "pure": your dreadful coiling snake has crawled into the mask of a god.
Thus spoke Zarathustra.