You know Marcel Proust?
French writer. Total loser.
Never had a real job. Unrequited love affairs. Gay.
Spent 20 years writing a book almost no one reads. But he's also probably the greatest writer since Shakespeare.
Anyway, he gets down to the end of his life...and he looks back and decides that all those years he suffered - those were the best years of his life, because they made him who he was.
All the years he was happy? You know,total waste. Didn't learn a thing.
2 comments:
parca expresia era "all way through"
It is...
iar la mine era un typo, thanks...
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