"Most people never attain to faith. For a long time they live on in
immediateness and finally they attain to a certain amount
of reflection, and so they die. The exceptions begin the other way
round, from childhood up dialectical, i.e., without immediateness,
they begin with dialectics, with reflection and in that way live on
year after year and then, at a ripe age, the possibility of faith shows
itself to them. For faith is immediateness after reflection. The
exceptions, naturally, have a very unhappy childhood and youth; for to be
essentially reflective at an age which is naturally immediate, is the
depths of melancholy. But they are recompensed; for most people do not
succeed in becoming spirit, and all of their fortunate years of their
immediateness are, where spirit is concerned, a loss and therefore they
never attain to spirit. But the unhappy childhood and youth of the
exception is transfigured into spirit

Everyone who has awakened from the first dream of youth will realize, if
his judgement is not paralyzed, that this world is the kingdom
of chance and error, of folly and wickedness. Hence everything better
only struggles through with difficulty. What is noble and wise seldom
attains to expression. The absurd and perverse in thought, the dull
and tasteless in art, the wicked and deceitful in action, assert a real
supremacy broken only by brief interuptions. In vain the sufferer
calls on his gods for help. This irremediable evil is only the mirror of
the will, of which himself is the objectification. To me, optimism,
when it is not merely the thoughtless verbalizing of those who have nothing
but words under their low foreheads, is not merely absurd; it is
wicked. It is a bitter mockery of the unspeakable misery of mankind. To me,
as to the writers of the Gospels, the 'world' and 'evil' are almost
synonymous terms.

Arthur Schopenhauer

"Note the subtle destructive way she chips away our norms ,values and
beliefs to get us to accommodate her disordered personality."

"The greatest weight.-- What, if some day or night a demon were to
steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you:
"This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to
live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in
it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and
everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to
you, all in the same succession and sequence - even this spider and
this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The
eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and
again, and you with it, speck of dust!"

Would you not throw
yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus?... Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to
crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal
confirmation and seal?"

"there's an exacting price to
be paid for eternal optimism that's
buried away in the small print somewhere."