Human, All-Too-Human

these early shadows still afflicting.
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The Shadow: Since I haven't heard your voice in so long, I would like to give you an opportunity to speak.

The Wanderer: Someone said something — where? And who? It almost seems as if I myself were speaking, though in an even weaker voice than mine.

...

The Wanderer: Only now do I notice how impolite I am, my beloved shadow: I have not said a word about how pleased I am to see you as well as hear you. You should know that I love the shadow as much as I cherish the light. For facial beauty, clarity of speech, quality and firmness of character, shadow is as necessary as light. They are not opponents: they are rather affectionate, holding hands—and if the light disappears, the shadow slips away after it.

The Shadow: And I hate the same thing you hate: the night; I love human beings, because they are devotees of light and I’m pleased when their eyes shine as they discern and discover knowledge — untiring knowers and discoverers that they are. That shadow, which all things cast, if the sunshine of perception falls upon them — that shadow am I as well.