“If for a time I had neither joy nor pain, and breathed in the tolerable warmth of the so-called good days, the temperate heat and cold, the tedious tolerable temperature, I would suffer so much pain in my soul that I would use the rust to play with it. The guqin playing the song of thanksgiving was thrown towards the “contented face” of the sleepy “contented god”. I would rather feel the extreme pain burning in my heart than feel this comfortable room temperature. Then I desperately longed for a strong feeling in my heart. Feelings, longing for sensational events, burning anger in the heart, annoyed with this harmonious, plain, standardized and emasculated life, filled with a strong desire to smash something, such as a department store or a big building There were other reckless and stupid things that the church or I wanted to do, like pull the wigs off some of the statues of His Holiness, give a few rebellious boys the tickets to Hamburg they wanted, seduce a little girl or kidnap a few Wring the necks of representatives of orderly life in the civil world. For of all things what I hate and damn most is this contentment, this state of health, this comfort, this optimism of a well-kept citizen, This rich and effective cultivation of the mediocre, the commonplace, and the ordinary.”