...and every Wednesday the perfumed young lady slips me a hundred-crown note to leave her alone with the convict. And by Thursday the hundred crowns are already gone in so much beer. And when the visiting hour is over, the young lady comes out with the stink of jail in her elegant clothes; and the prisoner goes back to his cell with the lady's perfume in his jailbird's suit. And I'm left with the smell of beer. Life is nothing but trading smells.

Perhaps the most extraordinary characteristic of current America is the attempt to reduce life to buying and selling. Life is not love unless love is sex and bought and sold. Life is not knowledge save knowledge of technique, of science for destruction. Life is not beauty except beauty for sale. Life is not art unless its price is high and it is sold for profit. All life is production for profit, and for what is profit but for buying and selling again?

We have nothing to live but life itself.

And the existence is tedious, anyway; it is a senseless, dirty business, this life.

All of life is a foreign country.

It was all a lie, it all stank, stank of lies, it all gave the illusion of meaning and happiness and beauty, and all of it was just putrefaction that no one would admit to. Bitter was the taste of the world. Life was a torment.

Life is a business transaction.

الحياة مجرد مصادفات مع ان الامر يحتاج الى جني لكي يتسوعب هذا اامر

Life is nothing but a competition to be the criminal rather than the victim.

All of man's life among his kind is nothing other than a battle to seize the ear of others.

Life is but thought.

marriage nothing but a lugubrious barter with slavery as its upshot.

Life is a memory, and then it is nothing.

La vie ne tient qu'à si peu de chose, la vie n'est qu'un soupir ...