The delight that I felt came precisely from being too acutely aware of my own degradation, from the feeling that you’ve come up against a brick wall, that it’s bad but at the same time cannot be otherwise, that there is no way out, that you’ll never become a different person, that even if you still had sufﬁcient time or belief to change into something else, you probably wouldn’t want to change. And if you did want to, you probably wouldn’t do anything about it because, in fact, there’s simply nothing to change into.
— fyodor dostoyevsky, notes from the underground
I hate most people. And I don’t want to, it’s an awful way to be. But the human race gives me no comfort. I find myself turning to books and films for comfort still. It’s repulsive, because one’s life consists of people, not things.