Voice: Young Man
1840s, Repetition (1843)
Context: One sticks one’s finger into the soil to tell by the smell in what land one is: I stick my finger in existence — it smells of nothing. Where am I? Who am I? How came I here? What is this thing called the world? What does this world mean? Who is it that has lured me into the world? Why was I not consulted, why not made acquainted with its manners and customs instead of throwing me into the ranks, as if I had been bought by a kidnapper, a dealer in souls? How did I obtain an interest in this big enterprise they call reality? Why should I have an interest in it? Is it not a voluntary concern? And if I am to be compelled to take part in it, where is the director? I should like to make a remark to him. Is there no director? Whither shall I turn with my complaint?
“I stick my finger into existence and it smells of nothing.”
"The Lived Experience of the Black Man"/"The Fact of Blackness"
Black Skin, White Masks (1952)
As quoted in Writers on Writing (1986) by Jon Winokur.
Variant: If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.
"I Am What I Am," from La Cage aux Folles (1983) http://www.bassey.co.uk/blog/shirley_bassey/2006_08_07_peggyblog.html
He that knows not what the world is, knows not where he is himself. He that knows not for what he was made, knows not what he is nor what the world is.
VIII, 52
Meditations (c. 121–180 AD), Book VIII
As quoted in C. F. Main & Peter J. Seng, Poems (Wadsworth Publishing Company, 1973), p. 3
