Such miserable creatures of circumstance are we all!

We had become what the world outside had made us; we had to live in the world as it existed.

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

The truth is, we each of us have an inborn conviction that the whole world with everybody and everything in it, was created as a sort of necessary appendage to ourselves.

Be humble. For the world will force humbleness upon you.

We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.

The melancholy of everything completed!

We are all so guilty at the way we have allowed the world around us to become more ugly and tasteless every year that we surrender to terror and steep ourselves in it.

We've all become god's madmen, all of us.

You have to be someone.

This is the world you have made yourself, now you have to live in it.

Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone.

We must have sinned greatly, at some juncture long buried in our protozoic past, to deserve such a universe

In mourning it is the world which has become poor and empty; in melancholia it is the ego itself.