Existentialism

One sticks one's finger into the soil to tell by the smell what land one's in; I stick my finger into existence - it smells of nothing. Where am i? Who am i? How did i come to be here? What is this thing called the world? What does the word mean? Who is it that has lured me into the thing, and now leaves me there?
... How did i come into the world? Why was i not consulted, why was i not made acquainted with its manners and customs, but was thrust into the ranks as though i'd been bought from a kidnapper, a dealer in souls? How did i obtain an interest in it? And is it not a voluntary concern? And if i am compelled to take part in it, where is the director? I would like to see him.

More from Soren Kierkegaard, from his novel "Repetition".

I'm really starting to like this guy.