Especially if you feel like a giant failure that never lived, but existed (to live, one of the rarest thing in the world, according to another great writer). I'll be here, sitting on the floor surrounded by cupcakes, ice cream and some twisted books, like an existentialist Bridget Jones, just contemplating my own ridiculous existence, thanks to you guys and your crude and insightful comments about life and its inevitable absurdity. Now, go outside, grab a cup of coffee and have fun. Roquentin, Meursault Meursault, Roquentin. So go ahead, but at your own risk, and when you freak the hell out, don't tell anyone that it was me who recommended that you mess with Sartre.

Its beautifully written, terrifying and intense. Then again, if you are like me and obsessed with words and the art that comes from darkness and the study of lonliness, then this is a work of genius.

If you almost lost your self in desire, don't read this book. If you are jaded by love don't read this book. Sartre writes beautifully and describes the physical world in such incredible detail, that if you are a reader, and even more if you are a writer, you want to keep going and never put it down, but if you are not emotionally stable enough to handle the fact that you might have done nothing but existing, don't read this book. It is sickening and dark and so terribly everyday that it gets inside you if you let it. Nausea is not a good thing to have as the only thing that belongs to you, and even worse as the only thing that you belong to. I put a longer review of this book / a journal entry that I wrote while I was reading it in 'my writing' since it was too long for this page.

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