One cannot live without motives. I have no motives left, and I am living.
Old age, after all, is merely the punishment for having lived.
Is it possible that existence is our exile and nothingness our home?
We dread the future only when we are not sure we can kill ourselves when we want to.
Shame on the man who goes to his grave escorted by the miserable hopes that have kept him alive.
Consciousness is much more than the thorn, it is the dagger in the flesh.