“One sticks one’s fingers into the soil to tell by the smell in what land one is:
I stick my finger into existence – it smells of nothing. Where am I?
How came I here?
What is this thing called the world?
What does this world mean?
Who is it that has lured me into this thing and now leaves me there? … How did I come into the world? Why was I not consulted?
… but thrust into the ranks as though as I had been bought of a kidnapper, a dealer in souls? How did I obtain an interest in this big enterprise they call reality?
Why should I have an interest in it?
Is it not a voluntary concern?
And if I am compelled to take part in it, where is the director?
… Whither shall I turn with my complaint?”