Cioran, E. M. - On the Heights of Despair (Chicago, 1992)

I don't understand why we must do things in this world, why we

must have friends and aspirations, hopes and dreams. Wouldn't

it be better to retreat to a faraway corner of the world, where all

its noise and complications would be heard no more? Then we

could renounce culture and ambitions; we would lose every-

thing and gain nothing; for what is there to be gained from this

world? There are people to whom gain is unimportant, who are

hopelessly unhappy and lonely. We are so closed to one another!

And yet, were we to be totally open to each other, reading into

the depths of our souls, how much of our destiny would we see?

We are so lonely in life that we must ask ourselves if the loneli-

ness of dying is not a symbol of our human existence. Can there

be any consolation at the last moment? This willingness to live

and die in society is a mark of great deficiency. It is a thousand

times preferable to die somewhere alone and abandoned so that

you can die without melodramatic posturing, unseen by anyone.

I despise people who on their deathbed master themselves and

adopt a pose in order to impress. Tears do not burn except in soli-

tude. Those who ask to be surrounded by friends when they die

do so out of fear and inability to live their final moments alone.

They want to forget death at the moment of death. They lack infi-

nite heroism. Why don't they lock their door and suffer those

maddening sensations with a lucidity and a fear beyond all

limits?