[…] And it was true, I had realised that: I hadn’t any right to exist. I had appeared by chance, I existed like a stone, a plant, a microbe. My life grew in a haphazard way and in all directions. Sometimes it sent me vague signals; at other times I could feel nothing but an inconsequential buzzing.
Jean-Paul Sartre, in Nausea (via letters-to-lolita)