"But at length he [God] grew old and soft and mellow and compassionate, more like a grandfather than a father, most like a tottery old grandmother.
Then he sat, shrivelled, in his chimney corner, fretting over his weak legs, world-weary, weary of willing, and one day suffocated through his excessive pity...
He was also indistinct. How angry he was with us, this snorter of wrath, because we mistook his meaning! But why did he not speak more clearly?
He had too many failures, this potter who had not learned his craft! But that he took vengeance on his pots and creations because they had turned out badly-- that was a sin against good taste."
Zarathustra, 'Retired From Service' in Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
