But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nutcrackers: precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!

But the clear, the honest, the transparent⁠—these are for me the wisest silent ones: in them, so profound is the depth that even the clearest water doth not⁠—betray it.⁠—

Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed white-head above me! Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness!

And must I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold⁠—lest my soul should be ripped up?

Must I not wear stilts, that they may overlook my long legs⁠—all those enviers and injurers around me?