From the fight with wild beasts returned he home: but even yet a wild beast gazeth out of his seriousness⁠—an unconquered wild beast!

As a tiger doth he ever stand, on the point of springing; but I do not like those strained souls; ungracious is my taste towards all those self-engrossed ones.

And ye tell me, friends, that there is to be no dispute about taste and tasting? But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting!

Taste: that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher; and alas for every living thing that would live without dispute about weight and scales and weigher!

Should he become weary of his sublimeness, this sublime one, then only will his beauty begin⁠—and then only will I taste him and find him savoury.

And only when he turneth away from himself will he o’erleap his own shadow⁠—and verily! into his sun.