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But no matter what precautions they make, will the family really ever be safe and feel at peace? The town seems to have its own set of rules when it comes to providing law and order. So maybe taking thi Averi only wants peace for her new little family So maybe taking things into their own hands is the only way Averi and Colt will ever move beyond the life which included Colt's father, Black Horse. The story is fantastic and starts off immediately from the first book, Black Horse.

At times I thought things couldn't have happened like that in real life, but after speaking directly with the author and hearing real life stories, she knows what she is talking about and brings real life scenarios into the fiction of the story. I look forward to the next book and the characters it may focus on.

The characters are real, honest and you desire to want to know more. This series is amazing. Just like with the first book it grabbed my attention and kept me captivated. The suspense and conflict is so emotional and I loved every minute of it. I am so invested in these characters and I can't wait to find out what happens next.

I was still on an emotional wreck from Black Horse. Broken Road picks up with a very pregnant Averi and Colt trying with the rest of their family to move on after the destruction and death caused by Black Horse. Randy is having another one night stand while ignoring Cheyenne. He continues to ignore Cheyenne and her attempts to reach out. And back to being an emotional wreck, as I was trying to figure out what was going on. As the story progresses, we see a lot of evil and darkness in what Jimmy and the Devils do.

They seem to be everywhere including in the police force and they have no regard for anyone or the damage they do. We also see Averi and her family and friends gather together to protect themselves and end the terror. What a great and powerful book. Broken road will leave you reeling in your seat. I was blown away by the amount of very strong emotions that Broken Road seemed to pull from me. At times it was the story I loved to hate. I could not get enough of this book as it took me through the string of emotions and completely turned me upside down and inside out.

Averi and Colt have a love and a bond that will stand the test of time. They are one couple who walked through the firey pits of hell and came ou What a great and powerful book. They are one couple who walked through the firey pits of hell and came out slightly scaved but stronger from the journey. They stole my heart. Averi's brother Randy is one man I would not want to go up against in a battle but he could hold me up against him any day of the week.

Randy gets toyed with and stomped on until he is all but lost but the fire of passion runs deep and for Randy he will find out how far he is willing to go to take on forces that have no soul! Jimmy and the Seventy Devils are psychopaths that need to be locked up in the deepest darkest pit that can be made and then throw away the key. I have no compassion for any of them. I truly loved this book and was so drawn into the story that my emotions ran like a roller coaster that felt out of control. Addison Kline writes a very unique and powerful story that will capture you and take you down a Broken Road that will leave you wanting to love and hate all in the same moment.

I look forward to reading more by Addison Kline as I have become a hopeless romantic fan of her books. This book is great. Broken Road is book two in the Breaking Black series. It is not a standalone, you must read Black Horse first. Black Horse is no longer a threat and there is an investigation as to who killed him. Colt and Randy are prime suspects. Jimmy is pretty crazy, it's apparent that he inherited a lot of crazy from his Dad. The Seventy Devils are a threat to Colt, Wow!! You can't help but wish for the characters to get peace and happiness.

I felt this story was a little bit darker than the first and it pulls on more emotions. We find out about Randy's ex Cheyenne in this story. Randy is one of my favorite characters. I was wondering who would be able to handle and Cheyenne was just great for him. I loved the ending. The epilogue left me wondering if we have seen the last of the evil part of Black Horse's family. Addison Kline baits your hook with a nice fat juice worm, dangles it in front of you daring you to bite and when you do, she pulls you in to the end. Broken Road a story of a combined brokenness, deep soul wrenching pain, and a united need of love.

Black Horse son, that know one knew. Can one broken soul, heal a shattered spirit. A bevy of wonderful characters, New and old. Endurance of pain the completeness of love and being loved. The story grabbed me right in and it was one hell of a ride. Randy and Cheyenne have the kind of passion that goes beyond the pages of the book and right into your very soul.

I thought Black Horse was good, but Broken Road is even better. She even brings you back to when little Jimmy had a crush on Averi when he was 11 years old. This book brings you a very pregnant Averi. It shows you that family with stick together no matter what. Well she has done it again! Wow just wow what a great gripping read. I could not put it down — three hours and I was done. Same great strong characters and action packed storyline to get your teeth stuck into.

You have danger, car chases, gunfights, passion, the strength of family throughout and so much more — well worth checking out. Well this time round was a bit more complex as it was not just solely focusing around Colt and Averi. You had a great mix of the other characters from the first boo Well she has done it again! You had a great mix of the other characters from the first book, who play much more of a role this time round — Randy especially. After Colt and Averi got married and found out they were expecting a baby things seemed to be going in the right direction for them for once.

Jimmy is as crazy as ever and has decided to take over from where his father left off. The first aim of business is to get revenge for the people who killed his father and to get rid of the competition — Colt — so he can have Averi for himself. So she convinces Colt, her brothers Randy and Tim and Shelly to all move into the old Hall ranch together. Including what Trent was like even as a teenager — you just know he was going to turn out bad. With her mother being married to one of the Seventy Devils she was pulled in to their world of drugs and alcohol.

After getting hooked Randy broke up with her and only started to give her a chance again when she got clean. But one of the Devils — Trent — had other plans for her and now she is nothing more than a toy for him to play with when he gets bored. She should know better really because one thing you learn about our leading men in this series is that they will and have done anything and everything to protect the women in their lives.

With tensions rising, corrupt cops helping the Devils and the danger getting ever closer Colt, Averi, Randy, Tim, Shelly and their closet friends are going to have to come together for the fight for their lives. When you see what they are prepared to do to protect their family and land you get a sense of how strong a unit they really are.

Addison Kline does a great job of setting the scene where you feel you are right there in the middle of the action taking place. A great story that shows you can create your own family, whether blood related or not, and bring them together. Showing the lengths they will go to protect their own in hoping for a better future for the next generation. Colt and Averi didn't want that for their own sons and daughters. What does time do to wounds? Time is nothing but a reminder of how much time has passed since you last saw the ones you love most. The line is bullshit. A scape goat.

A cheap cop-out. It is something that people say when they don't know what to say. It's not deep or sympathetic. It doesn't stop the heart from bleeding. Now married with a baby on they way, they may think the worst was put behind them with Black Horses death With the death of their leader, The Seventy Devils are on a rampage; lawless, soulless, and seeking revenge, they will stop at nothing and take out anyone who stands in their way. They are nothing short of a powder keg just waiting to go off and Jimmy Hearns is the match ready to ignite them.

He is about to prove to everyone that he is indeed his fathers son as he leads The Devils into war with three things in mind; 1-get revenge for the death of Black Horse. And things get even more complicated when a ghost from Randy's past comes barreling in at the worst time possible, adding another twist into their already dangerous, chaotic lives. Every war has it's casualties, who will be left standing at the end of this one? Will Colt and Averi finally find some peace, will their family still be in one piece, will Randy ever find resolution and will Shelly ever feel safe again?

It's our guys down there. It's not our job to sit up here looking pretty. We need to help defend them. Though the big difference between the two was the violence didn't really come into play in this one til the second half of the book, that does not mean that the first half was in any way slow or easy. Once again, the pace takes off at break-neck speed right from the beginning and does not slow down.

The POV jumps through several different characters and you're constantly being hit upside the head with twists and foreboding. There is just no time to relax, every second is laced with tension; it really is exhilarating. I wouldn't necessarily label this a romance, it's more of an action-suspense type deal, though the underlining story really does revolve around love, loyalty, family and the lengths these people go to to protect it.

If you're looking for sweet and fluffy, you will not find that here; these characters are not afraid to throw down or draw blood and they cuss like there's no tomorrow, but they love fiercely and without reservation. However, it did come across like there is more to be told and I cannot wait to see what comes at us next. It was like stepping into a Norman Rockwell painting, only where the people cursed like sailors and weren't afraid to stand up for what they believed in. The McClain's and the Ford's loved hard, and once you were in, you were considered family.

This is a romantic mystery, an attention holding book.

This is the second book in the Breaking Black series, it picks up where the first book left off. Addison Kline does give enough detail that you are not lost in the story, so you could read this as a stand alone, but I recommend reading the first book Black Horse, so you get the whole amazing story. I recommend this book to anyone whom loves an action packed book, an emotional roller coaster, I was cheering, laughing, sad and relieved.

This i This is a romantic mystery, an attention holding book. This is an perfect example that love conquers all, and that sometimes love is found in the most unexpected places. The heart wants what it wants. This is Averi and Colts story, there new beginning. They have finally found some peace with knowing that Black Horse is dead. Averi who is very pregnant is able to sleep, Colt is able to breath, but he never lets his guard down, he is prepared for anything. Little do they know that trouble is lurking around the corner in the form of Colt's half brother Jimmy, who plays the role of the mourning son, and he has the power of revenge with The Seventy Devils.

Averi's brother Randy is having a situation himself, dealing with Cheyenne. She has capture his heart but crushed it with her lifestyle choices. She is determined to prove she has changed. She tries to contact him repeatedly to no avail. Until The Seventy Devils use her as bait to get to Randy. Which is another ploy to get to Colt and Averi. What no one realizes is this unconventional family will protect each other till the end.

Enough is enough, they have been through hell and back, doing it again is no problem. Will they have the peaceful ending that they have dreamed of? Or will Jimmy and the Seventy Devils get the revenge they so desire? The words are an insult. A slap in the face It is something people say when they don't know what to say. Wounds fester. Sometimes the strain and exertion of trying to heal puts so much stress on the wound that the scab rips open, stitches and scar tissue be damned. Get out of my man cave! I couldn't talk to you on the phone because I would crumble.

After the reign of terror that Black Horse unleashed upon the small town of Oakley, Texas, Colt is followed by the name and reputation of the man who killed Broken Road Breaking Black 2 by Addison Kline 4 of 5 Stars Following Black Horse, the first book in this series, Broken Road had some pretty big shoes to fill. After the reign of terror that Black Horse unleashed upon the small town of Oakley, Texas, Colt is followed by the name and reputation of the man who killed nearly everyone he loved and left the town shattered time and time again by his monstrous acts of repeated violence and murder.

At the end of the first book, Black Horse met his demise and the young newlyweds thought that they would live a peaceful life since the fearless leader of the Seventy Devils biker gang was no longer around to lead the band of misfits in their acts of wrongdoing. They should have thought twice before assuming anything. Colt's half-brother and polar opposite, Jimmy Hearns has sworn to uphold the legacy of Black Horse and has placed himself at the top of the Devils' ranks. All hell breaks loose when the son of the devil himself sets his sights on something he wants. A whirlwind of drama follows the crew and a sudden, secret move to the countryside takes place in order to gain the upper hand against the Devils and to throw them off of their path to take a very pregnant Averi from her family.

They don't realize that Colt, Randy, and Tim will go to any means necessary to protect their loved ones and eliminate any threat against their safety. There's truly no love greater than that of a Texan man for his family. Or in this case, several Texan men! Not only does Kline weave a tale of love and hate, she opens up the souls of the characters and allows us to witness their mental and emotional growths, as well as their woes and set-backs. The only problem that I found with Broken Road is that most of the characters have extremely conflicted feelings toward some of the others in the story.

Many times, I noticed that their thoughts and emotions contradicted their past statements. For example, Randy warred with himself about his feelings for Cheyenne. One moment, he would swear that he was done with her and the next time we focused on him, he would miss her terribly and wish that she would get her act together so that they could have a life together. I understand that sometimes our hearts and minds do war against one another but it just seemed a bit drastic in this case.

All in all, I love this book and fully intend to keep track of Colt and Averi as they continue to strive to erase the fear of Black Horse's legacy and the downward looks at Colt for bearing the last name of the monster who was Black Horse McClain. Complimentary copy received in exchange for an honest review.

Meagan, My Secret Book Spot I did enjoy this read and thought it was a wonderful story. I do feel this could be a standalone book it gives you enough that you will not be lost if you have not read the first book, however it would be best to read Black Horse before reading this. Black Horse is dead but life still is on the edge with his other son Jimmy Hearns alive and wanting not only blood but Averi. He wants his brother Averi husband Colt dead and he will take what is rightly his which is Averi. Jimmy has gone mad, his brain is fried from drug use and he will use everything and anybody to get what he wants.

Averi and Colt finally have their life and a baby on the way or do they? Peace will never come to this small town as long as the Seventy Devils are around. It is up to Colt, Randy and Tim to give the town peace along with bring peace to their families. How many people will die before peace is restored in this town? The question of who killed Black Horse is still in the air, you have bad cops trying to frame Colt and Randy.

This book is not only a fight for Averi , Colt and their family but a fight for the town bring the bad men down and taking back what is theirs. As they leave one house it is burned to the ground, can they keep another standing and find a home where they can raise their family? Life is never easy and this family has had to live through way too much and still have a long road to go.

We see all the characters from the first book and some new ones. There is much love and much loses before this book ends. How much are you willing to give up to keep your family safe? To what lengths will you go to bring men down who are after you and your family? You are about to find out with Broken Roads. The author does a wonderful job telling a story of love, lost, heart break and lives that are destroyed through drugs, abuse and people. I love this authors writing style, the way her mind brings together heartache, love into a spell bound story of abuse, drugs, and hate.

I did not have the heart stopping suspense that the first book had but it was still an outstanding read. One I would recommend, the author pulls you into a well written book that is truly a wonderful read. I do look forward to see what the author comes up with next, I am sure it will be as wonderful as these who in this series.

I give this a 4. This is the second book in this series and they must be read in order. Colt and Averi hope for some peace now that Black horse is dead and they get it for a bit. Averi had to have several surgeries after having been in the fire Black Horse set. She is now 6 months pregnant and doing great. Shelly and Tim and dating and did so secretly for a while. Randy and Cheyenne are off again however it is killing them both. Randy is heartbroken that Chey cheated on him. But did she do it willingly. Randy ca This is the second book in this series and they must be read in order.

Randy caught her with Trent however Trent has a habit of getting girls hooked on drugs and then doing whatever he wants to them while they are high and out of it. The crew has decided to fix up the ranch and move there as one big family. It is important to Averi that they are all safe and together. So even though Randy and Colt have just begun getting along they have all agreed to move in together.

Jimmy needs the backing of the seventy devils do this. Jimmy is a little too much like his father and is going mad just like him. The drugs and drinking are causing him to lose his mind. Jimmy has taken a childhood crush on Averi and turned it into an obsession. Will he get what he wants or will the crew be able to stop them and the devils? Colt as well as Averi and her brothers have been through so much because of black horse and his seventy devils.

Just when they are hoping for some peace they are pulled right back into the mess. Will they be able to finally live in peace and raise their child? I have a feeling there is going to be another book in this series and truly hope there is. I love this story and the characters involved in it. Addison writes a wonderful story that pulls you in and makes you feel for the characters.

I look forward to reading other books by Addison Kline in the future. I was given this book in return for an honest review. Who killed Tom "Black horse" McClain?? Jimmy McClain has 3 goals: 1. Avenge black horse 2. Make Averi his After watching his father black horse get murdered Jimmy decides then and there he will get revenge on everyone and finally claim what has always been his. During book two complete chaos takes place in Oakeley. Or will Jimmy and his newly found president status of the notorious motor cycle gang the Seventy Devils.

This story is a mixture of past and present it tells you a lot about Colt and Averi growing up and Randy and his high school girlfriend Cheyenne. Cheyenne also happens to be in deep with the Seventy Devils since her mom is a hang around and is married to one. Cheyenne and Randy have a long history where they would both like to be happy with each other again but can they overcome their difficult past? Can Randy look past the wrong doings Cheyenne did or will she continue with addiction and fail any chance at happiness And finally who will gain possession of black horses' estate once his will is released including the property that the seventy devils use as their base of operation and club house.

Will the warn between the Seventy devils and Oakeley finally be over or is it the start of a new reign of terror I did cringe a few times with the violence but damn I enjoyed the way it all went down. I am so glad they got some justice for the horrible drama these people have brought into their lives. Averi and Colt are now married and expecting. There is a lot of drama surrounding them because of Black Horses death.

I love this "family" and I am so happy they were able to overcome their grief and differences. What I love in this story is how we get to journey back in time to the high school Colt and Averi!! OMG swoon!! We also learn how Jimmy's obsession with Averi came about. There is also a bit about Randy and Cheyenne and I honestly love their story past and present , I would actually love to read about their future There is sexual , emotional and substance abuse.

Cheyenne's story is horrible , I have a very different feel for her now. I am glad Randy is such a stand up guy because he really does save her life. Colt and Averi are such a great couple. They have it all , despite the drama surrounding them , they are happy , in love and very committed to their family and of course each other.

I love never having to wonder if they are going to have issues. You just know it will never be about them being heartbroken by the other. That is refreshing. I was very pleased with how the story came full circle. Is the drama over for them?? Will they be able to live a peaceful life now?? I hope so they really do deserve it!! I am so glad I was able to read both of these books. I look forward to reading more from Addison and I would love more from the gang here!!

Colt and Averi are expecting their first child. Randy is miserable because Cheyenne was caught with another guy in her bed. Tim and Shelly are dating and the police are trying to solve who killed Black Horse in the hospital. After everything that everybody went through when Black Horse was trying to kill Averi nobody really want to stay in the house that Colt and Averi first lived in again.

Especially since the police, not with to much help from Uncle Shawn, were trying to connect Randy and Colt Colt and Averi are expecting their first child. Especially since the police, not with to much help from Uncle Shawn, were trying to connect Randy and Colt to the murder. It was decided that everybody needed to be together in one house so they moved into the old house that Averi and Her brothers grew up in.

Colt and Randy never were totally settled that the Seventy Devils would just relax but what they didn't expect was who would take over as leader. It was Jimmy. Jimmy had his own motives to be leader and that led him to make sure he had the Devils on his side. Their was one person he wanted and wanted he would get. Or he would die trying. Things started to fall apart for the Devils when they shot up Randy's truck and he drove it into the side of their headquarters. When they went to get revenge at Colt's gym a lot of the members were arrested.

When the time came to end all. It was all out. But who would come out the other side as victor's. Would be Colt and his family?

THE BROKEN WAY

Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers and fellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herds and herdsmen and corpses! And thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried thee in thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves. But I part from thee; the time hath arrived.

I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not any more will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken unto the dead. With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I associate: the rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the Superman. To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers; and unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the heart heavy with my happiness.

I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy will I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going! This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noon-tide. Then he looked inquiringly aloft,—for he heard above him the sharp call of a bird. And behold! More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in dangerous paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me! When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in the forest.

Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart:. Would that I were wise from the very heart, like my serpent! But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do I ask my pride to go always with my wisdom! And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:—alas! Three metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how the spirit becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child. Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong load-bearing spirit in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and the heaviest longeth its strength. What is heavy? What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? Or is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth its triumph?

To ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter? Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for the sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul? Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends of the deaf, who never hear thy requests? Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water of truth, and not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?

All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon itself: and like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness. But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second metamorphosis: here the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its own wilderness. Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to him, and to its last God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon. What is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined to call Lord and God?

All values have already been created, and all created values—do I represent. Thus speaketh the dragon. My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit? Why sufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and is reverent? To create new values—that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: but to create itself freedom for new creating—that can the might of the lion do. To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: for that, my brethren, there is need of the lion.

To assume the right to new values—that is the most formidable assumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a spirit it is preying, and the work of a beast of prey. But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lion could not do? Why hath the preying lion still to become a child? Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a game, a self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.

Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you: how the spirit became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child. Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the town which is called The Pied Cow. People commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who could discourse well about sleep and virtue: greatly was he honoured and rewarded for it, and all the youths sat before his chair.

To him went Zarathustra, and sat among the youths before his chair. And thus spake the wise man:. Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing! And to go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at night! Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealeth softly through the night. Immodest, however, is the night-watchman; immodestly he carrieth his horn. No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose to keep awake all day. Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesome weariness, and is poppy to the soul.

Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled. Ten truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seek truth during the night, and thy soul will have been hungry. Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwise thy stomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night. Few people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order to sleep well. Shall I bear false witness?

Shall I commit adultery? All that would ill accord with good sleep. And even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thing needful: to send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time. That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! And about thee, thou unhappy one! Peace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth good sleep. Otherwise it will haunt thee in the night. Honour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crooked government! So desireth good sleep. How can I help it, if power like to walk on crooked legs? He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always be for me the best shepherd: so doth it accord with good sleep.

Many honours I want not, nor great treasures: they excite the spleen. But it is bad sleeping without a good name and a little treasure. A small company is more welcome to me than a bad one: but they must come and go at the right time. So doth it accord with good sleep. Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they promote sleep.

Blessed are they, especially if one always give in to them. Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then take I good care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned—sleep, the lord of the virtues! But I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thus ruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy ten overcomings? And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the ten laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?

Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me all at once—sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues. Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth my mouth, and it remaineth open. Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves, and stealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this academic chair.

When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in his heart: for thereby had a light dawned upon him. And thus spake he to his heart:. A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts: but I believe he knoweth well how to sleep. Happy even is he who liveth near this wise man! Such sleep is contagious—even through a thick wall it is contagious. A magic resideth even in his academic chair. And not in vain did the youths sit before the preacher of virtue. His wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well. And verily, if life had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the desirablest nonsense for me also.

Now know I well what people sought formerly above all else when they sought teachers of virtue. Good sleep they sought for themselves, and poppy-head virtues to promote it! To all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleep without dreams: they knew no higher significance of life. Even at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher of virtue, and not always so honourable: but their time is past.

And not much longer do they stand: there they already lie. Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all backworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world then seem to me. The dream—and diction—of a God, did the world then seem to me; coloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one. Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou—coloured vapours did they seem to me before creative eyes.

The creator wished to look away from himself,—thereupon he created the world. Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world once seem to me. Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth? Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human madness, like all the Gods! A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego.

Out of mine own ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came not unto me from the beyond! What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for myself. And lo! To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe in such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation.

Thus speak I to backworldsmen. Suffering was it, and impotence—that created all backworlds; and the short madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer experienceth. Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with a death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any longer: that created all Gods and backworlds.

Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the body—it groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls. It was the body which despaired of the earth—it heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it. Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak. Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved? Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most uprightly of its being—this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is the measure and value of things.

And this most upright existence, the ego—it speaketh of the body, and still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth with broken wings. Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it learneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the earth. A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath followed blindly, and to approve of it—and no longer to slink aside from it, like the sick and perishing!

The sick and perishing—it was they who despised the body and the earth, and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the earth! From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for them. Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied themselves transported, these ungrateful ones.

But to what did they owe the convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body and this earth. Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignant at their modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they become convalescents and overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves! Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly on his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God; but sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.

Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and languish for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the latest of virtues, which is uprightness. Backward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, were delusion and faith something different. Raving of the reason was likeness to God, and doubt was sin. Too well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believed in, and that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what they themselves most believe in. Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops: but in the body do they also believe most; and their own body is for them the thing-in-itself.

But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their skin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves preach backworlds. Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a more upright and pure voice. More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and square-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.

To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own bodies,—and thus be dumb. And why should one not speak like children? The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd. What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end in itself.

But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are the end of all things: so vain are they. Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit. Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy body.

There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom? Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of its notions. To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising and worth and will? The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to its will.

Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from life. No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:—create beyond itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour. But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body. To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves. And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth.

And unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt. I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman! My brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is thine own virtue, thou hast it in common with no one. To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and caress it; thou wouldst pull its ears and amuse thyself with it. Then hast thou its name in common with the people, and hast become one of the people and the herd with thy virtue!

Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and if thou must speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it. Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law or a human need do I desire it; it is not to be a guide-post for me to superearths and paradises. An earthly virtue is it which I love: little prudence is therein, and the least everyday wisdom.

But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore, I love and cherish it—now sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs. Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil. But now hast thou only thy virtues: they grew out of thy passions. Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those passions: then became they thy virtues and joys. And though thou wert of the race of the hot-tempered, or of the voluptuous, or of the fanatical, or the vindictive;. Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed at last into birds and charming songstresses.

Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy cow, affliction, milkedst thou—now drinketh thou the sweet milk of her udder. And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer, unless it be the evil that groweth out of the conflict of thy virtues. My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou have one virtue and no more: thus goest thou easier over the bridge.

Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot; and many a one hath gone into the wilderness and killed himself, because he was weary of being the battle and battlefield of virtues. My brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary, however, is the evil; necessary are the envy and the distrust and the back-biting among the virtues. Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing is jealousy. Even virtues may succumb by jealousy.

He whom the flame of jealousy encompasseth, turneth at last, like the scorpion, the poisoned sting against himself. Man is something that hath to be surpassed: and therefore shalt thou love thy virtues,—for thou wilt succumb by them. Ye do not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, until the animal hath bowed its head?

When he judged himself—that was his supreme moment; let not the exalted one relapse again into his low estate! There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from himself, unless it be speedy death. Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge; and in that ye slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life! It is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay.

Let your sorrow be love to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own survival! But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and another thing is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not roll between them. An idea made this pale man pale.

Adequate was he for his deed when he did it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done. Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed. Madness, I call this: the exception reversed itself to the rule in him. The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck bewitched his weak reason. Hearken, ye judges! He meant to rob. But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuaded him. Or take revenge? And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its words upon him—thereupon he robbed when he murdered.

He did not mean to be ashamed of his madness. And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and once more is his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull. Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; but who shaketh that head? What is this man?

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A mass of diseases that reach out into the world through the spirit; there they want to get their prey. A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peace among themselves—so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world. Look at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the poor soul interpreted to itself—it interpreted it as murderous desire, and eagerness for the happiness of the knife.

Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil: he seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain. But there have been other ages, and another evil and good. Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid became a heretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to cause suffering.

But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, ye tell me. But what doth it matter to me about your good people! Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, not their evil. I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed, like this pale criminal! Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity, or justice: but they have their virtue in order to live long, and in wretched self-complacency. I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me may grasp me!

Your crutch, however, I am not. Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit. He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another century of readers—and spirit itself will stink. Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run not only writing but also thinking. He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read, but learnt by heart.

In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that route thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those spoken to should be big and tall.


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The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched. I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage which scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins—it wanteth to laugh. I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I see beneath me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh—that is your thunder-cloud. Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward because I am exalted. He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays and tragic realities.

Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive—so wisdom wisheth us; she is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior. Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are all of us fine sumpter asses and assesses. What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because a drop of dew hath formed upon it?

It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we are wont to love. There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some method in madness. And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles, and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.

To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit about—that moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs. And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound, solemn: he was the spirit of gravity—through him all things fall. Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit of gravity!

I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned to fly; since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot. Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself. Now there danceth a God in me.

Zarathustra thereupon laid hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake thus:. But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it listeth. We are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands. The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more vigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark and deep—into the evil. I trust myself no longer since I sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how doth that happen? I change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my yesterday.

I often overleap the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the steps pardons me. When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me; the frost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height? My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I clamber, the more do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seek on the height? How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How I mock at my violent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the height!

Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside which they stood, and spake thus:. And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand it: so high hath it grown. Now it waiteth and waiteth,—for what doth it wait? It dwelleth too close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first lightning? My destruction I longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the lightning for which I waited! It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed me!

Zarathustra, however, put his arm about him, and led the youth away with him. It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell me all thy danger. Too unslept hath thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful. On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy soul. But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom. Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors. Still art thou a prisoner—it seemeth to me—who deviseth liberty for himself: ah! To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit.

Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him: pure hath his eye still to become. Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not thy love and hope away! Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee still, though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Know this, that to everybody a noble one standeth in the way. Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even when they call him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside. The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue.

The old, wanteth the good man, and that the old should be conserved. But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, but lest he should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer. I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope. And then they disparaged all high hopes. Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond the day had hardly an aim.

Then broke the wings of their spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where it gnaweth. Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are they now. A trouble and a terror is the hero to them. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero in thy soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope! There are preachers of death: and the earth is full of those to whom desistance from life must be preached.

Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the many-too-many. There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the beast of prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration. And even their lusts are self-laceration. They have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may they preach desistance from life, and pass away themselves! There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born when they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.

They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish! Let us beware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those living coffins! But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only one aspect of existence. Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties that bring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth. Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishness thereby: they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their still clinging to it.

And that is the foolishest thing in life! Then see to it that YE cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only suffering! Thou shalt steal away from thyself! One beareth only the unfortunate! Take what I am! So much less doth life bind me! Were they consistently pitiful, then would they make their neighbours sick of life. To be wicked—that would be their true goodness. But they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bind others still faster with their chains and gifts! And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are ye not very tired of life?

Are ye not very ripe for the sermon of death? All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new, and strange—ye put up with yourselves badly; your diligence is flight, and the will to self-forgetfulness. If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less to the momentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you—nor even for idling!

Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; and the earth is full of those to whom death hath to be preached. By our best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either whom we love from the very heart. So let me tell you the truth! My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am, and was ever, your counterpart. And I am also your best enemy. I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great enough not to know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed of them! And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at least its warriors.

They are the companions and forerunners of such saintship. I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy—for YOUR enemy. And with some of you there is hatred at first sight. Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake of your thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall still shout triumph thereby!

Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars—and the short peace more than the long. You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to peace, but to victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory! One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and bow; otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth.

Let your peace be a victory! Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say unto you: it is the good war which halloweth every cause. War and courage have done more great things than charity. Not your sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims. To be brave is good. They call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love the bashfulness of your goodwill. Ye are ashamed of your flow, and others are ashamed of their ebb. Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the mantle of the ugly! And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty, and in your sublimity there is wickedness.

I know you. In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet.

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But they misunderstand one another. Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be despised. Ye must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of your enemies are also your successes. Resistance—that is the distinction of the slave. Let your distinction be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying! Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your highest hope be the highest thought of life!

Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you by me—and it is this: man is something that is to be surpassed. So live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about long life! What warrior wisheth to be spared! Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my brethren: here there are states. A state? What is that? A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters.

It is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a faith and a love over them: thus they served life. Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state: they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them. Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood, but hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs. This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its language of good and evil: this its neighbour understandeth not.

Its language hath it devised for itself in laws and customs.

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But the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; and whatever it saith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen. False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the biting one. False are even its bowels. Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give unto you as the sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, indicateth this sign!

Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death! See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many! How it swalloweth and cheweth and recheweth them! And not only the long-eared and short-sighted fall upon their knees! Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God! Weary ye became of the conflict, and now your weariness serveth the new idol!

Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it, the new idol! Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,—the cold monster! Everything will it give YOU, if YE worship it, the new idol: thus it purchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes. It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many! Yea, a hellish artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the trappings of divine honours! Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which glorifieth itself as life: verily, a hearty service unto all preachers of death!

Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the inventors and the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their theft—and everything becometh sickness and trouble unto them! Sick are they always; they vomit their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, and cannot even digest themselves. Wealth they acquire and become poorer thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much money—these impotent ones! See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another, and thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.

Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness—as if happiness sat on the throne! Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne. Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager. Badly smelleth their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they all smell to me, these idolaters. My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites! Better break the windows and jump into the open air! Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry of the superfluous!

Withdraw from the steam of these human sacrifices! Open still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty are still many sites for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour of tranquil seas. Open still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily, he who possesseth little is so much the less possessed: blessed be moderate poverty!

There, where the state ceaseth—there only commenceth the man who is not superfluous: there commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the single and irreplaceable melody. Do ye not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman? Flee, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with the noise of the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones. Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee. Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where the market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the great actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.

In the world even the best things are worthless without those who represent them: those representers, the people call great men. Little do the people understand what is great—that is to say, the creating agency. But they have a taste for all representers and actors of great things. Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world:—invisibly it revolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory: such is the course of things. Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit.

Tomorrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer. Sharp perceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours. To upset—that meaneth with him to prove. To drive mad—that meaneth with him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of all arguments. A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehood and trumpery. Verily, he believeth only in Gods that make a great noise in the world!

Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,—and the people glory in their great men! These are for them the masters of the hour. But the hour presseth them; so they press thee. And also from thee they want Yea or Nay. On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous, thou lover of truth!

Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an absolute one. On account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security: only in the market-place is one assailed by Yea? Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait until they know WHAT hath fallen into their depths. Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is great: away from the market-Place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of new values. Flee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by the poisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth! Flee into thy solitude!

Thou hast lived too closely to the small and the pitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards thee they have nothing but vengeance. Raise no longer an arm against them! Innumerable are they, and it is not thy lot to be a fly-flap. Innumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proud structure, rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin.

Thou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by the numerous drops. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops. Exhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, and torn at a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid. Blood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood their bloodless souls crave for—and they sting, therefore, in all innocence.

But thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even from small wounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-worm crawled over thy hand. Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest it be thy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice! They buzz around thee also with their praise: obtrusiveness, is their praise. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.

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They flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimper before thee, as before a God or devil. What doth it come to! Flatterers are they, and whimperers, and nothing more. Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But that hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly.

They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls—thou art always suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is at last thought suspicious. They punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in their inmost hearts only—for thine errors. Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves despised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret maleficence.

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Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once thou be humble enough to be frivolous. What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on your guard against the small ones!