Sartre, Nausea
three o'clock. The three is always too late or too early to do what you want. It 's the weirdest hours of the afternoon. Today is intolerable.
I resurfaced a memory. Once, in reference to a certain person, I felt them not to associate a time that it was five o'clock in the afternoon ... and the most surprising thing was that a few moments after my head had given birth to such a singular thought, though without the express, my best friend told me the same thing. It must be said that we were living together at that time, then the circumstances must have had a decisive influence.
It is not that just the same, but I notice that it is not unusual at all hours of the day will inspire any particular feeling.
A perfect day for a return on themselves: these cold flares - that the sun casts, as a trial without indulgence, on the creatures - through the eyes come into me and I feel lit inside by a demeaning light. I'm sure that I need a quarter of an hour to reach the supreme disgust myself.
In the lines above the author confesses his pleasure in the face to the sky and black rain closed the previous day and instead describes the light as stingy and reasonable, comparing the eye with which it is addressed, after a sleepless night the decisions made - with enthusiasm - the day before or what has been written to jet. [Ah, how many times I have! : P]
The night hides, but the light exposes all things, including humans. But because they get to experience such horror of myself ... Perhaps because there would be nothing but a source of boredom , as being alone with ourselves? Or because I 'm the only one which is given to penetrate the most "reprehensible" of my person? Mah .. More and more confused! ;)
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