I finished Demian (Hermann Hesse) last week. Once again, it felt like leaving some of my best friends behind, those friends who do not exist but are alive in me. I was somewhat reluctant to reread this book, which had made such an impression on me when I was young, so many years ago. But, while I was reading it again, highlighting virtually every sentence in my Kindle, I realised why I had liked it so much back then. This book is about me.
I had forgotten all that story about the mark of Cain…
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