Sometimes I think I am going mad.
I live for days in the mystery and tears of things so that the commonest object, the most familiar face — even my own — become ghostly, unreal, enigmatic. I get into an attitude of almost total skepticism, nescience, solipsism even, in a world of dumb, sphinx-like things that cannot explain themselves. The discovery of how I am situated — a sentient being on a globe in space overshadows me. I wish I were just nothing.
– W.N.P Barbellion