I have been struggling to understand your character and your belief in the absurd ever since I finished reading about you. I can only say that it has been to no avail. Perhaps I am too sensitive, too emotional a person to accept that this life has no meaning. I'm willing to believe there is a meaning to all that happens here more than I am willing to believe there is not. That probably didn't make any sense to you, but then again, you don't make any sense to me. I will leave you alone now.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Albert Camus | The Stranger | 1942