upon rereading Nausea i am interested in the existentialist take on regret. Roquentin seems less alienated to me than he did the last time i visited him, instead he seems more concerned with what used to be and what has changed. he does not accept this change to Nausea and mourns for his past. is this Sartre’s example of Kierkegaard’s ‘knight of infinite resignation?’ and why is the extreme awareness of being-​in-​itself so disgusting? why is this knowledge of difference nauseous instead of euphoric? it doesn’t sicken me…

I must not put strangeness where there is none. I think that is the big danger in keeping a diary: you exaggerate everything. You continually force the truth because you’re always looking for something.

Jean-​Paul Sartre — Nausea