#melancholy

So instead of giving in to despair I chose active melancholy, in so far as I was capable of activity, in other words I chose

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It seems to me at times that I am incapable of beginning a life in real life, because it has seemed to me that I have lost

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I despise my own hypersensitiveness, which requires so much reassurance. It is certainly abnormal to crave so much to be

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This is my last message to you: in sorrow, seek happiness.

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Blessed are the forgetful; for they get over their stupidities, too.

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Living never wore one so much as the effort not to live.

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I do not even know whether I am the one living it or if my life is living me.

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Vague dreams, confusing lights, perplexing landscapes—that is what remains in my soul after all my journeying. I have

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Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity, and stumble from defeat to defeat.

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If we ask what poetry is, we may say in general that it is victory over the world; it is through a negation of the

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Which of us, turning to look back down the road along which there is no return, could say that we had walked that road as

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It is not tedium that one feels. It is not grief. It is not even tiredness that one feels. It is the desire to go to

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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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If I hear myself speaking out loud, the ears with which I hear myself speaking out loud do not listen to me in the same way

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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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