What did I know of life, I who had lived so carefully? Who had neither won nor lost, but just let life happen to him. Who had the usual ambitions and settled all too quickly for them not being realised? Who avoided being hurt and called it a capacity for survival? Who paid his bills, stayed on good terms with everyone as far as possible, for whom ecstasy and despair soon became just words once read in novels? One whose self-rebukes never really inflicted pain?
The protagonist reflects on a life lived with cautious detachment, having not fully engaged with its highs and lows. He acknowledges a tendency to let life unfold passively, limiting his experiences to mundane ambitions without truly striving for their fulfillment. This careful existence has led to a lack of profound emotions, with the terms 'ecstasy' and 'despair' feeling like mere literary concepts rather than lived experiences.
This contemplation reveals a sense of regret for not fully embracing life's challenges and joys. The character recognizes that his approach, which he deemed a survival strategy, ultimately resulted in an unremarkable existence devoid of deep emotional engagement. His self-criticisms indicate an awareness of this emptiness, yet he appears to have avoided the pain that comes from confronting these truths.
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All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
Race of Cain, ascend to heaven, And cast God down upon the earth!
