'..a marginal person....A marginal person who has lived comfortably, true, but only under completely uncertain and temporary circumstances.' Identity, MilanKundera.
That's me... How did Milan Kundera know me...see me?
"When he wondered: what should I choose for my whole life's work? His inner self would fall into the most uncomfortable silence." identity, MilanKundera.
Me again...in a hundred lines, in a slip of a book, there is me, over and over again..
This is what I love in a book... To see me. Listen to answers to my questions. Wander through an eternal labyrinth with the author who is as confused as I am. Searching for answers to the same questions. To rejoice or be disgusted with the journey...the discovery... Together.
With Albert Camus's 'Stranger'
I wanted to be the prisoner on death row, ' Happy Death' found me in a delirious existentialist journey..."
But some books, however well written and well received leave me cold... Why? Because the author did not know me... He is not talking to me and was not on my journey.
Books... A narcissists utopia.!
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