Catharsis of existence

[💯🔥🙌Poetic prose to its finest❗️]
"What life is left him robs him of what reason is left him. Trifles or scourges - the passing of a fly or the cramps of the planet - horrify him equally. With his nerves on fire, he would like the earth to be made of glass, to smatter it to smithereens; and with what thirst he would fling himself toward the stars to reduce them to powder, one by one. . .Crime glistens in his eyeballs; his hands tighten in vain to strangle. Life is transmitted by leprosy : too many creatures for a single murderer. It is in the nature of the man who cannot kill himself to seek revenge against whatever enjoys existing. And failing, discarded Satan, he weeps, pounds his breast, bows his head; the blood he wanted to shed fails to redden his own cheeks whose pallor reflects his disgust with that secretion of hopes produced by the advancing species. His great dream was to destroy the days of Creations. . .he renounces his dream, collapses into himself, and yields to the elegy of his own failure: another order of excess is the result. His skin burns: fever fills the universe, his brain is on fire: the air is inflammable. His ills fill sidereal space; his griefs make the poles tremble. And whatever is allusion to existence, the most imperceptible breath of life, wrings from him a cry which compromises the music of the spheres and the movement of the stars."
~Flayed Alive, A Short History of Decay by E.M. Cioran

“I shall have to miss forever some beautiful, wonderful things because of that wretched, lonely childhood. There will always be a lacking, a wanting -- some dead branches that never grew leaves. It is not deaths and murders and plots and wars that make life tragedy. It is day after day, and year after year, and Nothing. It is a sunburned little hand reached out and Nothing put into it.”
~Mary MacLane, The Story of Mary MacLane

“I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad didn’t see me coming, either: the kid with the black moods, the kid whose mind was always elsewhere, flinching from real life as from a bruise. Who wanted to lay a fiction-filter on top of everything and pretend it was something else just to keep the sheer disappointment of it all bearable: this limited, empirical experience of ours, trapped inside a decaying shell of meat, mainly able to perceive that nothing lasts, even in our most pleasurable moments.”
~Gemma Files, Experimental Film

"What is worse? To be confronted with an obvious horror, or to be haunted by a never-ending premonition of what's ahead?"
~Jac Jemc, The Grip Of It

What of it? If I die, I die. It will be no great loss to the world, and I am thoroughly bored with life. I am like a man yawning at a ball; the only reason he does not go home to bed is that his carriage has not arrived yet.
~Lermontov