Zarathustra answered: "I love mankind."

"Why," said the saint, "did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it
not because I loved men far too well?

Now I love God: men, I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect for me.
Love to man would be fatal to me."

Zarathustra answered: "What spake I of love! I am bringing gifts unto
men."

"Give them nothing," said the saint. "Take rather part of their load, and
carry it along with them--that will be most agreeable unto them: if only
it be agreeable unto thee!

If, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an alms, and
let them also beg for it!"

"No," replied Zarathustra, "I give no alms. I am not poor enough for
that."

The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spake thus: "Then see to it that
they accept thy treasures! They are distrustful of anchorites, and do not
believe that we come with gifts.

The fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through their streets. And
just as at night, when they are in bed and hear a man abroad long before
sunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us: Where goeth the thief?