For of all creatures that breathe and creep about on the earth, there is none so miserable as man.

There is nothing alive more agonized than man / of all that breathe and crawl across the earth.

...of all creatures that breathe and move on earth
none is more to be pitied than a man.

Of all that breathes and crawls across the earth,
our mother earth breeds nothing feebler than a man.

At last concluded that no creature was more miserable than man, for that all other creatures are content with those bounds that nature set them, only man endeavors to exceed them.

There is no greater folly in the world than for a man to despair.

Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man.

If there's one thing you can say about mankind, there's nothing kind about man.

There is no greater folly in this world than for a man to despair.

When I see the blind and wretched state of men, when I survey the whole universe in its deadness, and man left to himself with no light, as though lost in this corner of the universe without knowing who put him there, what he has to do, or what will become of him when he dies, incapable of knowing anything, I am moved to terror, like a man transported in his sleep to some terrifying desert island, who wakes up quite lost, with no means of escape. Then I marvel that so wretched a state does not drive people to despair.

What a dreary world we live in, gentlemen.

Examine the man who lives in misery because he does not shine above other men; who goes about producing himself, pruriently anxious about his gifts and claims; struggling to force everybody, as it were begging everybody for God's sake, to acknowledge him a great man, and set him over the heads of men! Such a creature is among the wretchedest sights seen under this sun. A great man? A poor morbid prurient empty man; fitter for the ward of a hospital, than for a throne among men. I advise you to keep out of his way. He cannot walk on quiet paths; unless you will look at him, wonder at him, write paragraphs about him, he cannot live. It is the emptiness of the man, not his greatness. Because there is nothing in himself, he hungers and thirsts that you would find something in him. In good truth, I believe no great man, not so much as a genuine man who had health and real substance in him of whatever magnitude, was ever much tormented in this way.

I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth.

Poor man. Poor mankind.