When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so called good and tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my moldering lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of contentment and would rather feel the very devil burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room. A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life.

Then burns in me a wild craving for strong emotions, sensations, a rage against this shaded, flat, standardized and sterilized life and a frenzied desire to smash something to pieces[..]

Hermann Hesse