Modernity is a complex web of emotions and concepts such as angst, existentialism, absurdism, psychoanalysis, solitude, and confusion, often associated with France or the West.

This article offers a fascinating insight into the mind of a post-World War II disillusioned French illustrated author. It can also provide solace to a possible teen overthinker. While the author may feel that they have already experienced or thought about these things, it is still a worthwhile read for many.

The book also raises the social and human problem of "Rhinoceritis" - the spread of ideas that are not one's own. This is exemplified by statements like "well, I do not agree with it but I guess there must be some truth in it," which can lead to the acceptance of harmful ideologies like communism or fascism, and ultimately, human-made disasters.

Overall, it is a serious book that delves into the inner turmoil of a man who retires at 35 and has to come to terms with himself and those around him.

Maciej said it was funny, but I didn't dare to laugh.

Sometimes, we find ourselves in situations where others may find something humorous, but for various reasons, we hold back our laughter. Maybe we are in a formal setting, or perhaps we are worried about how our reaction might be perceived. In this case, Maciej's comment seemed to amuse him, but I felt a certain constraint.

It could be that I was preoccupied with other thoughts, or maybe I didn't quite understand the joke in the same way as Maciej. Nevertheless, the moment passed, and I remained silent.

This experience made me realize that our sense of humor can vary from person to person, and what one finds funny, another may not. It also highlights the importance of being aware of our surroundings and the people around us when it comes to expressing our emotions.

Next time, I might try to be more open and let myself laugh, even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone a little. After all, laughter is often the best medicine, and it can bring people closer together.

I'd give this 3 1/2 stars if I could.

It is a well-written novel that delves into the psyche of a man who is becoming increasingly detached and paranoid about everyone and everything around him.

The story is told mainly through his internal dialogue, which vividly reveals his delusions and anxieties about reality.

At times, it is reminiscent of the works of Kafka, Gogol, and Hamsun (particularly "Hunger"), but without the element of humor.

The author does an excellent job of creating a sense of unease and foreboding as the man's mental state deteriorates.

The characters are well-developed, and the plot keeps the reader engaged from start to finish.

Overall, it is a thought-provoking and disturbing novel that offers a unique perspective on the human condition.

If we cannot withstand the wall, can we endure the abyss?

This thought-provoking question challenges our perception of strength and resilience. The wall represents the obstacles and difficulties that we encounter in life. It could be a physical barrier, such as a difficult task or a challenging situation. If we are unable to overcome this wall, it makes us wonder if we have the ability to face something even more terrifying, like the abyss.

The abyss symbolizes the unknown, the void, and the ultimate test of our courage and perseverance. It is a place where we may feel lost, scared, and vulnerable. But perhaps it is precisely in the face of the abyss that we discover our true inner strength.

We may find that although we couldn't withstand the wall, we have the capacity to endure the abyss. It may require us to dig deeper within ourselves, to find resources and courage that we didn't know we had.

So, the next time we are faced with a seemingly insurmountable wall, instead of giving up, we should ask ourselves: If not the wall, can we endure the abyss? And perhaps, this question will inspire us to find the strength and determination to keep going.

La storia di un uomo è piuttosto interessante. Dopo aver ereditato da una zio d'America, he decides to quit his job. He is like many others: “skeptical, disillusioned, easily tired and tired, one who lives without goals, who works as little as possible”. He is a mediocre person who, although not feeling comfortable in life, does nothing to change it, but endures it. He lives trying to mute the few desires that remain to him, limiting himself to watching life pass by. He prefers his elsewhere to the reality of others. The connections with the universe exist, but for the most part they are thin threads: a kind of jealousy towards the woman who has just left him, a phone call to an acquaintance, few formal conversations and sometimes a feeling of emptiness. Sometimes he misses the people he has had contact with. Although he tries to convince himself that it is necessary to resign himself to life, he does not always succeed. There remains a kind of anger that sometimes emerges and this is the spring that keeps him alive.

In his soul, he does not accept that there are limits to knowledge, that the laws that govern the universe cannot be penetrated. He sees that all our constructions (moral, material and religious) are based on postulates and he cannot accept this. He cannot go on knowing that he lives in a world based on nothing, and yet he cannot help but question our human nature. The difference between him and others – he says – is that normal people are between the two extremes, neither light nor darkness, while he can only live in a state of grace because he has too high aspirations. He always seeks the limit, wants to know everything, cannot adapt to an incomplete reality. Inevitably, the protagonist will end up increasingly restricting his range of action: first to the neighborhood where he has just moved, then to the apartment, then to the bedroom. An existence made only of memories, of small flashes of light in the grayness of life, a self-tightening that becomes tighter and tighter just as a revolution breaks out outside, a dispute in which it is not clear what the parties involved are, who is fighting against whom and above all in the name of what.

Once again there is a divergence between him and the world: the others who find a remedy in action, in the revolt against society, and he who instead does not act but lives in anguish. In that anguish caused by the awareness of living with a perennial sense of “lack”, of not knowing enough, of not knowing everything, especially of never having known how to adapt. And yet, although so far everything seems only grayness and oppression and the life of the protagonist is well channeled along a road without an exit, the novel ends surprisingly. The author seems to want to reach out to the protagonist, recognizing his will not to give up and the attempt to give meaning to things that he has shown throughout the story, and almost as a reward, offers him if not a way out at least some symbols: a tree able to be born from a pile of rubbish, the wardrobe doors that open and let a sea of light into the room, a garden of images and a silver staircase that dissolve in a few moments, but not before something of that light has penetrated the protagonist and remained in him.

Depressingly beautiful is a concept that often eludes easy definition. It is a state of being that combines the melancholy and sadness of life with the inherent beauty that can still be found within it.

It is a beauty that is tinged with a sense of loss, a beauty that makes us aware of the transience and imperfection of all things.

Perhaps it is the beauty of a fading rose, its petals wilting and falling away, yet still retaining a certain elegance and charm.

Or it could be the beauty of a desolate landscape, with its barren hills and empty plains, yet somehow still managing to evoke a sense of awe and wonder.

Depressingly beautiful can also refer to the human experience, to the moments of pain and suffering that we all endure, yet which can also give rise to a deeper understanding and appreciation of life.

It is a beauty that is not always easy to see, but which, when we do, can have a profound and lasting impact on us.

A large pile of nihilism and crises throughout the novel.

This novel demonstrates the need for a job or a pastime in your life to avoid having existential crises all the time. He, after receiving a large inheritance that allows him to never work again, quits his job and chooses to live alone but does nothing with his time and instead chooses to ruminate on the lack of meaning in life.

It's not so much that we need to be productive but that we need something to occupy our minds. If we let it wander, we will end up like him. I, for one, am of the opinion that life objectively has no real meaning but we have to make do with what we have. Why not just try to enjoy life? It's not living in ignorance as the main character says. He is amazed at the way everyone behaves as if it's not strange to exist and thinks that he, the enlightened one, has realized the absurdity of life, but he is completely wrong.

He is the one who never looks for a solution to his problem and remains convinced throughout the plot of his "intelligence" (not that he is elitist) and positions himself as a spectator of human beings. He watches them work and live but never participates. He creates plans but never follows through with things. Like, come on. For me, we just have to accept the lack of meaning and learn to live with it. I think it's better to continue living despite this truth and still be happy with life. We don't need to find a meaning in life because it doesn't exist, but it will be okay anyway.

It's a beautiful novel but not very pleasant to read. I had the impression that Ionesco was repeating the same message throughout the book and I got a bit bored in the middle. I would have liked the main character to develop a bit more but no.

I picked it up mainly due to the inner dialogue and the seamless blending between reality and his philosophical musings or perhaps even surreal fantasies that were constantly unfolding in his mind.

So, it really puzzles me when I see the reviews that express surprise at this aspect. For a significant portion of the story, it呈现出 a gloomy and self-loathing tone. There's no disputing that.

However, I was pleasantly surprised and truly welcomed the redemption that emerged toward the end. I had actually come very close to giving up on him. It was as if a glimmer of hope finally broke through the long darkness, offering a glimmer of a better future for the character.

This element of redemption added a new layer of depth and complexity to the overall narrative, making it a more engaging and thought-provoking read.

The premise of the book was indeed quite interesting. It had the potential to engage the readers and take them on an exciting journey.

However, the prose and writing style left a lot to be desired. The language used was rather平淡 and lacked the sparkle and vividness that could have made the story come alive.

At times, while reading, I found myself getting bored and losing interest. Despite the fact that it was a quick read, the lackluster writing failed to hold my attention.

It's a shame because with a more engaging writing style, this book could have been a real gem. As it stands, it just doesn't quite deliver the impact that it could have.

Perhaps the author could consider revising the prose and adding more depth and color to the writing to make it more appealing to readers.

Trecutul este întotdeauna frumos, și tandru. Îți amintești de anumite momente și îți dai seama că le regreți. Și acest lucru îl realizezi prea târziu.

De obicei, în singurătate nu ești singur. Îți iei restul cu tine. Ești izolat, dar această izolare nu reprezintă singurătatea absolută, care e cosmică. În schimb, ești în cealaltă singurătate, în mica singurătate, care nu e decât socială. În singurătatea absolută nu mai există vreun celălalt.

Să iubesc deșertul, să iubesc albastrul mării, să iubesc albul navelor mi se părea cu putință. Dar să iubesc oameni mi se părea mai dificil. Să nu-i detest, de acord. Dar să iubesc aceste creaturi care se mișcă, vorbesc, se agită, fac zgomot, cer, doresc, crapă? Era mai degrabă comic. Pentru mine, iubirea pentru oameni a fost întotdeauna o provocare. Nu înțelegeam cum puteai să iubești cineva atât de bine când acesta putea să facă atât de multe lucruri rău.

A young-ish man inherits wealth, allowing him to lead a leisurely life in Paris. After quitting his miserable job, he intends to reconnect with friends but never does. Instead, he settles into a not-unpleasant routine of dining at the same restaurant daily, indulging in large amounts of brandy and wine, and sleeping most of his life away.

He does get involved with a woman, perhaps in an attempt to recapture the love he lost to a co-worker. The author's thoughts on love, as stated on page 8, are profound: "Love can move mountains, burst all bonds, even steel; nothing can stand in its way. It's our own mediocrity that makes us let go of love, renounce it. True Love knows no renunciation, is not even aware of that problem, and never resigns itself; resignation is for beaten people."

The man contemplates reality, time, and the nature of his own existence. Historic events overtake him when he is unwillingly caught up in a revolutionary spasm and is even struck at the restaurant by a revolutionist. After his neighborhood is mostly destroyed and his restaurant closes, he retreats to his apartment and then to his bedroom. He survives the revolution along with his money, but by then, his life has become a meditation on the sky outside his window, and he is now an old man.

The final scene is both beautiful and touching. As he is dying, he experiences either a spiritual epiphany or sees a visual representation of heaven. Maybe this was the image he had always hoped to see, and he could only achieve it by focusing on that patch of sky for years. Perhaps that scene, visible only to him, was the truth, the view through the prison he thought the world was, to the outer light-filled region of the universe that is inaccessible to man.

"Samotnik" is such a very special book for me in terms of thought - but emotionally, something didn't click between us to the extent that it ended up among my favorites. Maybe time will decide to change that someday.

It is very fluid prose - it transitions into two different states of concentration. One is down-to-earth, closely related to reality, and the other is metaphysical, based on the threads of existential streams. It is precisely because of these intersecting layers that Ionesco so skillfully rhythms the course of the story. I notice a certain disproportion between the beginning and the end of the book (personally, I'm more of a fan of the first part), but it can be perceived in two ways; also as revealing a change in the psyche of the narrator. After all, that's what it's about here - about the creeping senselessness and the feeling of not belonging.

The very concept of loneliness here has a very unusual format. Unusual internally because, due to the hyper-awareness of the main character, he doesn't feel lonely in the first depth. He is in a way lonely in the sense that no truly lonely loneliness exists.