With its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelter itself as with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness doth it banish from itself everything contemptible.

Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith: “Bad⁠— that is cowardly!” Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous, the sighing, the complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling advantage.

It despiseth also all bittersweet wisdom: for verily, there is also wisdom that bloometh in the dark, a nightshade wisdom, which ever sigheth: “All is vain!”

Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and everyone who wanteth oaths instead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom⁠—for such is the mode of cowardly souls.