A Most Guilty Pleasure

It is startling to experience, time and time again, the most precise expression of one’s own most private thoughts in the writings of the great Romanian existentialist. Some people call him “gloomy,” but I only see stark realism — the realism of Schopenhauer, Emerson, and Mahler. And as with those three, I notice experiencing a gratitude and love for him bordering on the deeply personal, as much as I have experienced for some living people.

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