God goes with thoughtless people.
That is all very senseless, but this senselessness has a pretty mouth, and it smiles.
I'd like to die listening to a piece of music. I imagine this as so easy, so natural, but naturally it's quite impossible. Notes stab too softly. The wounds they leave behind may smart, but they don't fester. Melancholy and pain trickle out instead of blood. When the notes cease, all is peaceful within me again.
I must find myself a life, a new life, even if all of life consists only of an endless search for life. What is respect compared to this other thing: being happy and having satisfied the heartβs pride. Even being unhappy is better than being respected. I am unhappy despite the respect I enjoy; and so in my own eyes I donβt deserve this respect; for I consider only happiness worthy of respect. Therefore I must try whether it is possible to be happy without insisting on respect.
