“I resented the implication that I should grow out of pessimism. I took it to mean I should grow out of truth. That living would rid me of the necessity of making sense of it, of justifying my efforts, of looking further than my instincts for why it is I persist with no demonstrable reason for doing so. I despised the convention that had certain thinkers playing to little more than the sentiments and passions of youth, to immaturity, to precocious spite, and how wallowing in Schopenhauer, Cioran, Chamfort, Leopardi, Unamuno, Zapffe, Mainlander and their ilk is to remain persistently juvenile and so beneath the serious attention of fully rational adults.”