Donna Of Tartt. Goldfinch (№ 256521)

Because I do not care, what people have been saying and how often and how confidently they repeat it: no one, no one will ever convince me that life is the ultimate prize, the greatest gift. Because here's the truth: life is catastrophe. The very essence of our existence, when we rush here and there trying to feed themselves, make friends and do something on the list - is a disaster. Forget all this nonsense in the spirit of "Our town", which you hear everywhere: about what a miracle a newborn baby, about how much joy is hidden in a single flower, about how mysterious ways, etc etc. As for me - and I will stubbornly repeat it until you die until you take the dirt my ungrateful nihilistic face, yet not so faint that I can't and not a word to utter: it is better not to be born at all, than to be born in this sewer. In this cesspool of hospital beds, coffins and broken hearts. No exit to freedom, no appeal, no "start again" as he was fond of saying Ksandra, the way forward, only one - old age and loss, and only one way out - death.