February 6th, 2007


You don't believe anything anymore, so what do you live for?

My French papers consistently look as if Prof. B tore open a vein and bled all over them. I mean, I'm not complaining (some of the shit I write certainly deserves worse than mere blood), but sometimes it can get a bit tedious. And depressing.

If anyone wants to read a truly delicious novel (& there really isn't any other appropriate word for it), try reading Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Cambrioleur by Maurice LeBlanc. The French is beautiful, the story is interesting and amusing, and it's genuinely hard to put down. "Dussé-je vivre cent ans, je n'en oublierais pas le plus infime détail..."

I really want to look into reading more French classics... maybe Zola? Sartre? Or, hell, maybe I could finally finish up Les Liaisons Dangereuses...
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