I've been reading Daybreak, Nietzsche's under-estimated 1880 masterpiece. 
You will see him - presupposing you have eyes capable of seeing this work in the depths - going forward slowly, cautiously, gently inexorable, without betraying very much of the distress which any protracted deprivation of light and air must entail; you might even call him contented, working there in the dark. Does it seem as though some faith were leading him on, some consolation offering him compensation? As though he perhaps desires this prolonged obscurity, desires to be incomprehensible, concealed, enigmatic, because he knows what he will thereby also acquire: his own morning, his own redemption, his own daybreak?... Being silent is something one completely unlearns if, like him, one has been for so long a solitary mole -- (ยง1, Clark and Leiter translation)
That is from the preface of Daybreak, the opening salvo - the humble 'thoughts' before the storm of the Genealogy and later the full-bodied critique of the Anti-Christ. I read that on the train on Tuesday while coming home and it made me shuder and laugh at the same time. That is what Nietzsche does best.
