Thursday, April 24, 2008

Out of Context, Issue 8

And it was true, I had always realized it; I hadn't the right to exist. I had appeared by chance, I existed like a stone, a plant or a microbe. My life put out feelers toward small pleasures in every direction. Sometimes it sent out vague signals, at other times I felt nothing more than a harmless buzzing.

Nausea. Sartre, Jean-Paul. New Directions Publishing.

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