I turned away from philosophy when it became impossible to discover in Kant any human weakness, any authentic accent of melancholy; in Kant and in all the philosophers. Compared to music, mysticism, and poetry, philosophical activity proceeds from a diminished impulse and a suspect depth; prestigious only for the timid and the tepid. Moreover, philosophy-impersonal anxiety, refuge among anemic ideas- is the recourse of all who would elude the corrupting influence of life. Almost all the philosophers came to a good end: that is the supreme argument against philosophy. Even Socrates' death has nothing tragic about it: it is a misunderstanding, the end of a pedagogue-and if Nietzsche foundered, it was as a poet and visionary: he expiated his ecstasies and not his arguments.
We cannot elude existence by explanations, we can only endure it, love or hate it, adore or dread it, in that alternation of horror and happiness which expresses the very rythm of its being, its oscillations, its dissonances, its bright or bitter vehemences.