Life, I might say, is a weary process, a misery in its own right.
But there we live in it, in our tiny flats along a street of concrete, steel, and human flesh, or our mammoth villas in the countryside, suffering daily, yearning daily, with such vigor, for freedom that we forget about our yearnings. We are a miserable race, and our only right in life is to suffer.
That said, however, this does not mean that we cannot enjoy the misery of our continued existence. From this misery we may derive pleasure, and from pleasure we may find beauty, and from beauty arises love.
We must, by all means, love ourselves, for we cannot expect ourselves to love another being, or be loved by another being.
And here following this preface were the thoughts of different people on the ways of life, on the paths they had chosen, for good or evil.
So be it.
Au revoir.
