A few years ago I started to read Ranier Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet but I quickly set it aside because I found it boring and trite. I attribute this reaction to the well-documented fact that I have no soul. Given the childish delight I take in word-replacement memes, I thought it would be funny to write a book called Letters to a Young Asshole:
No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to be an asshole; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to be an asshole. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I be an asshole? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.
Goodness knows plenty of people seem to do this already.