This book belongs to the few. Perhaps none of them are alive anymore. They might be those who understand my Zarathustra: how could they confuse me with those for whom ears grow that listen today? - Tomorrow belongs to me. Some are born posthumously. The conditions under which they understand me and necessarily understand me - I know them very well. One must be honest to the point of harshness in spiritual matters to withstand my seriousness, my passion. One must be trained to live in the mountains - to look down on the pitiable, ephemeral chatter of politics and the vanity of nations. One must have become indifferent, must not ask if the truth is beneficial, if it turns out to be fatal... A preference of the strong man for questions that no one today has the courage to ask; the courage for the forbidden; the destiny for the labyrinth. An experience that comes out of seven solitudes. New ears for new music. New eyes for the furthest. A new consciousness for truths that have remained silent until now. And, the will for economy of great style: to keep together its strength, its enthusiasm... Respect for oneself; love for oneself; unconditional freedom towards oneself... All right! Only they are my readers, my true readers, predetermined for my readers: what do the others matter? - The others are simply humanity. - One must surpass humanity through strength, through the style of the soul - through contempt... [Excerpt from the preface text]