I'm glad the universe is pointless. It means if I get to the end of my life, the universe can't turn to me and go, 'What have you been doing, you idiot? That's not the point!
That is the most extreme form of nihilism: nothingness (the "meaningless") eternally!
The thought that really crushes us is the thought of the futility of life of which death is the visible manifestation.
Life itself was only futility, vain words, a squabble of cap and bells.
Human life is inexplicable, and still without meaning: a fool may decide its fate.
Life itself is pretty funny when you realize how absurd it can be.
L'homme est condamne a' e" tre libre. Man is condemned to be free.
L'homme est une passion inutile. Man is a useless passion.
If the universe is meaningless, so is the statement that it is so. If this world is a vicious trap, so is its accuser, and the pot is calling the kettle black.
To be in a world which is a hell, to be of that world and neither to believe in or guess at anything but that world is not merely hell but the only possible damnation: the act of a man damning himself. It may be
Does a being who requires meaning find meaning in a universe that has no meaning?
Man at last knows that he is alone in the unfeeling immensity of the universe, out of which he emerged only by chance. Neither his destiny nor his duty have been written down. The kingdom above or the darkness below: it is for him to choose.
What's terrible is that there's nothing terrible, that the very essence of life is petty, uninteresting, and degradingly trite.
The ridiculousness and idiocy of life is embraced and examined. It nurtures the childhood perspective in everyone.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
According to Beckett's or Kafka's law, there is immobility beyond movement: beyond standing up, there is sitting down, and beyond sitting down, lying down, beyond which one finally dissipates.
It had already occurred to him that books were stuff, and that life was stupid.
Life is boring. People are vengeful. Good things always end. We do so many things and we don’t know why, and if we do find out why, it’s decades later and knowing why doesn’t matter any more.
Perhaps the way to succeed is to think of life on Earth as a colossal joke, a creation of such immense stupidity that the only way to live is to laugh until you think your heart will break.
There is no particular reason to search for meaning.
Basically, at the very bottom of life, which seduces us all, there is only absurdity, and more absurdity. And maybe that's what gives us our joy for living, because the only thing that can defeat absurdity is lucidity.
I have complete faith in the continued absurdity of whatever’s going on.
It has always seemed to me that my existence consisted purely and exclusively of nothing but the most outrageous nonsense.
everything isn't everything
In the end, perhaps we should simply imagine a joke; a long joke that's continually retold in an accent too thick and strange to ever be completely understood. Life is that joke my friends. The soul is the punch line.
