I could not stand this darting, fussing, eternally preoccupied, sullen and alarmed people, who were wandering about me along the sidewalks. What is their eternal sorrow, their eternal anxiety and vanity; eternal, sullen anger of them (because they are evil, evil, evil)? Who is to blame, that they are unhappy and do not know how to live, having sixty years of life ahead of them?
Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky ("The Idiot")