important什么意思
我的痛苦和思考能有多重要？我在这个世界上的存在会扰乱一些平静的生活，也会扰乱其他人无意识的、愉快的天真。虽然我觉得我的悲剧是历史上最伟大的——比帝国的灭亡还要伟大——但我还是意识到自己完全不重要。我绝对相信，我在这个宇宙中什么都不是；但我觉得我的存在是唯一真实的存在。如果我必须在世界和我之间做出选择，我会拒绝世界，拒绝它的灯光和法律，毫不畏惧地在绝对虚无中独自滑行。虽然生活对我来说是一种折磨，但我不能放弃它，因为我不相信绝对的价值，我将以其名义牺牲自己。如果我是完全真诚的，我会说，我不知道为什么我活着，为什么我不停止生活。答案可能在于生命的非理性特征，它没有理由地维持自己。如果只有荒诞的生活动机呢？它们还能被称为动机吗？这个世界不值得为了一个想法或信仰而做出牺牲。今天我们有多幸福，因为别人为我们的福祉和我们的启蒙而死？安康？启蒙？如果有人为了让我幸福而死，那么我就会更不幸福，因为我不想把我的生活建立在墓地上。有的时候，我觉得自己对历史上所有的苦难负有责任，因为我不明白为什么有些人要为我们流血牺牲。如果我们能确定他们比我们更幸福，这将是一个巨大的讽刺。让历史碎成尘埃吧！我为什么要这么做？我为什么要费心？让死亡出现在一个可笑的光线中；苦难，是有限的，无法揭示的；热情，是不纯的；生命，是理性的；生命的辩证法，是逻辑的，而不是魔鬼的；绝望，是次要的和局部的；永恒，只是一个词；虚无的体验，是一个幻觉；宿命，是一个笑话！我认真地问自己：什么是真正的幸福？我认真地问自己，这一切的意义何在？为什么要提出问题，抛出灯光，或看到阴影？如果我把我的眼泪埋在海边的沙子里，在彻底的孤独中不是更好吗？但我从来没有哭过，因为我的眼泪总是变成了思想。而我的思想就像泪水一样苦涩。
How important can it be that I suffer and think? My presence in this world will disturb a few tranquil lives and will unsettle the unconscious and pleasant naivete of others. Although I feel that my tragedy is the greatest in history – greater than the fall of empires – I am nevertheless aware of my total insignificance. I am absolutely persuaded that I am nothing in this universe; yet I feel that mine is the only real existence. If I had to choose between the world and me, I would reject the world, its lights and laws, unafraid to glide alone in absolute nothingness. Although life for me is torture, I cannot renounce it, because I do not believe in the absolute values in whose name I would sacrifice myself. If I were to be totally sincere, I would say that I do not know why I live and why I do not stop living. The answer probably lies in the irrational character of life which maintains itself without reason. What if there were only absurd motives for living? Could they still be called motives? This world is not worth a sacrifice in the name of an idea or a belief. How much happier are we today because others have died for our well-being and our enlightment? Well-being? Enlightment? If anybody had died so that I could be happy, then I would be even more unhappy, because I do not want to build my life on a graveyard. There are moments when I feel responsible for all the suffering in history, since I cannot understand why some have shed blood for us. It would be a great irony if we could determine that they were happier than we are. Let history crumble into dust! Why should I bother? Let death appear in a ridiculous light; suffering, limited and unrevealing; enthusiasm, impure; life, rational; life’s dialectics, logical rather than demonic; despair, minor and partial; eternity, just a word; the experience of nothingness, an illusion; fatality, a joke! I seriously ask myself, What is the meaning of all this? Why raise questions, throw lights, or see shadows? Wouldn’t it be better if I buried my tears in the sand on a seashore in utter solitude? But I never cried, because my tears have always turned into thoughts. And my thoughts are as bitter as tears.
