Maurice Sachs (1906-1945) was a genius Jew very blackpilled / "cynical" about human nature. An author at heart, he worked for some time as a black market trafficker during WW2. He ended his life in a fortress and shot in the head by a SS in 1945. He was a rare blackpilled Chad due to his genius-level IQ.
Here are some quotes from his fortress memoirs (roughly translated from French):
Cats, horses and women are the highest form of animals.
In front of moral problems man is still powerless (...) mankind should be treated in a biological manner, we need to discover the moral and social sulfamides. We need to treat the species by biology.
Man has lost all the simplicity of his nature but none of his instincts. From this, much unhappiness is derived.
Out of all this horror of Earth, mankind has managed to extract a few beautiful things. It's our only glory.
Hatred, too, is creative. I sometimes wonder whether man, or animal, have not been created by hatred; whether some demon has not presided over all this fantastical and useless creation that an excellent and powerless God contemplates with indifference.
Saints and criminals both hate being human.
The uselessness of man appears flagrant to me under the light of infinity.
Young people are selfish without knowing it; mature people are knowingly selfish.
His memoirs are sentence after another of pure unadulterated blackpill. There are even better nuggets than this but I'm too lazy to translate everything. Is it cynicism? I don't really think so. I think it's realism.
Here are some quotes from his fortress memoirs (roughly translated from French):
Cats, horses and women are the highest form of animals.
In front of moral problems man is still powerless (...) mankind should be treated in a biological manner, we need to discover the moral and social sulfamides. We need to treat the species by biology.
Man has lost all the simplicity of his nature but none of his instincts. From this, much unhappiness is derived.
Out of all this horror of Earth, mankind has managed to extract a few beautiful things. It's our only glory.
Hatred, too, is creative. I sometimes wonder whether man, or animal, have not been created by hatred; whether some demon has not presided over all this fantastical and useless creation that an excellent and powerless God contemplates with indifference.
Saints and criminals both hate being human.
The uselessness of man appears flagrant to me under the light of infinity.
Young people are selfish without knowing it; mature people are knowingly selfish.
His memoirs are sentence after another of pure unadulterated blackpill. There are even better nuggets than this but I'm too lazy to translate everything. Is it cynicism? I don't really think so. I think it's realism.
