out there orbiting around

For isn’t the life of man a momentary booziness of the soul? And an eclipse of the soul as well? We are all as if drunk, only everybody in his own way; one person has drunk more, the next less. And it works differently on each: the one laughs in the face of this world, while the next cries on its bosom. One has already thrown up and feels better, while the next is only starting to feel like throwing up. But me, what am I? I’ve partaken of much, but nothing works on me. I haven’t really laughed properly, even once, and I’ve never thrown up, even once.