I feel monotony and death to be almost the same.

O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!

The essence of man is, discontent, divine discontent; a sort of love without a beloved, the ache we feel in a member we no longer have.

Nothingness not being nothing, nothingness being emptiness.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.

Life is wasted on the living.

Without knowing what I am and why I am here, life is impossible.

Those who do not know how to live must make a merit of dying.

To live is to feel oneself lost.

Regarding life, the wisest men of all ages have judged alike: it is worthless.