#melancholic

Human beings can reach such desperate solitude that they may cross a boundary beyond which words cannot serve, and at

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The trivialities natural to life, the insignificancies of the normal and vulgar, lie like a layer of dust, tracing a blurred,...

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For the aesthete, tragedies are interesting to observe, but uncomfortable to experience.

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I loathe the happiness of all these people who don’t know they’re unhappy. Their true life is vegetative, their sufferings

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I still haven’t managed not to feel the pain of my solitude. It is so difficult to achieve the distinction of spirit that

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My life: a tragedy booed off the stage by the gods after only the first act. Friends: none. Just a few acquaintances who

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I’ve always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself.

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I question myself but do not know myself. The part of my life not wasted in thinking up confused interpretations of nothing

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That which caused us trial shall yield us triumph; and that which made our heart ache shall fill us with gladness. The only

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Walking on these streets, until the night falls, my life feels to me like the life they have. By day they’re full of

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With every increase in the degree of consciousness, and in proportion to that increase, the intensity of despair increases:

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To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.

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