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    <![CDATA[Romanian-born E.M. Cioran moved to Paris at the age of 26, remaining there nearly six decades until his death in 1995. He was called &quot;a sort of final philosopher of the Western world&quot; and &quot;the last worthy disciple of Nietzsche&quot;; the bleak aphorisms of <em>All Gall Is Divided</em> make a strong case for either appellation. &quot;With every idea born in us,&quot; he declares early on, &quot;something in us rots.&quot; Throughout the book, he addresses the futile attempts of man to impose meaning on a meaningless existence--&quot;That there should be a reality hidden by appearances is, after all, quite possible; that language might render such a thing would be an absurd hope&quot;--and nurses an ongoing fascination with the possibilities death holds for release from life's madness. (When the Dead Kennedys sang, &quot;I look forward to death / This world brings me down,&quot; they might as well have been taking notes from Cioran.) Grim stuff, but presented in brilliant, crystalline form--particularly in the translation by Richard Howard, which retains Cioran's cold, detached viewpoint. ]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[I'm not sure where I originally heard about Cioran. Someone told me that if I liked Nietzsche then I would like Cioran. I bought this little baby in hardcover. Cioran took me in, strangled me, and left me to die. I haven't been the same since. <br/><br/>I long to be free - desperately free. Free a...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/78801616">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Romanian-born E.M. Cioran moved to Paris at the age of 26, remaining there nearly six decades until his death in 1995. He was called &quot;a sort of final philosopher of the Western world&quot; and &quot;the last worthy disciple of Nietzsche&quot;; the bleak aphorisms of <em>All Gall Is Divided</em> make a strong case for either appellation. &quot;With every idea born in us,&quot; he declares early on, &quot;something in us rots.&quot; Throughout the book, he addresses the futile attempts of man to impose meaning on a meaningless existence--&quot;That there should be a reality hidden by appearances is, after all, quite possible; that language might render such a thing would be an absurd hope&quot;--and nurses an ongoing fascination with the possibilities death holds for release from life's madness. (When the Dead Kennedys sang, &quot;I look forward to death / This world brings me down,&quot; they might as well have been taking notes from Cioran.) Grim stuff, but presented in brilliant, crystalline form--particularly in the translation by Richard Howard, which retains Cioran's cold, detached viewpoint. ]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[La solitude, ce n'est pas d'être seul, mais le seul. [] Cioran<br/>Hard to translate this, maybe somethin' like :<br/>Loneliness is not to be alone, but rather the only one.<br/>(Here's an idea of this philosopher.) ]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Romanian-born E.M. Cioran moved to Paris at the age of 26, remaining there nearly six decades until his death in 1995. He was called &quot;a sort of final philosopher of the Western world&quot; and &quot;the last worthy disciple of Nietzsche&quot;; the bleak aphorisms of <em>All Gall Is Divided</em> make a strong case for either appellation. &quot;With every idea born in us,&quot; he declares early on, &quot;something in us rots.&quot; Throughout the book, he addresses the futile attempts of man to impose meaning on a meaningless existence--&quot;That there should be a reality hidden by appearances is, after all, quite possible; that language might render such a thing would be an absurd hope&quot;--and nurses an ongoing fascination with the possibilities death holds for release from life's madness. (When the Dead Kennedys sang, &quot;I look forward to death / This world brings me down,&quot; they might as well have been taking notes from Cioran.) Grim stuff, but presented in brilliant, crystalline form--particularly in the translation by Richard Howard, which retains Cioran's cold, detached viewpoint. ]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[<br/>Cioran:  the darkest, most ironic of aphorists.  Strange, but his outlook is so relentlessly bleak, so completely nihilistic, that he often makes me laugh.  Such honesty is rare--and bracing.]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Romanian-born E.M. Cioran moved to Paris at the age of 26, remaining there nearly six decades until his death in 1995. He was called &quot;a sort of final philosopher of the Western world&quot; and &quot;the last worthy disciple of Nietzsche&quot;; the bleak aphorisms of <em>All Gall Is Divided</em> make a strong case for either appellation. &quot;With every idea born in us,&quot; he declares early on, &quot;something in us rots.&quot; Throughout the book, he addresses the futile attempts of man to impose meaning on a meaningless existence--&quot;That there should be a reality hidden by appearances is, after all, quite possible; that language might render such a thing would be an absurd hope&quot;--and nurses an ongoing fascination with the possibilities death holds for release from life's madness. (When the Dead Kennedys sang, &quot;I look forward to death / This world brings me down,&quot; they might as well have been taking notes from Cioran.) Grim stuff, but presented in brilliant, crystalline form--particularly in the translation by Richard Howard, which retains Cioran's cold, detached viewpoint. ]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[So bleak that it's almost hysterical.  But really I love  E. M. Cioran because I feel he sees the world in its proper light.]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Romanian-born E.M. Cioran moved to Paris at the age of 26, remaining there nearly six decades until his death in 1995. He was called &quot;a sort of final philosopher of the Western world&quot; and &quot;the last worthy disciple of Nietzsche&quot;; the bleak aphorisms of <em>All Gall Is Divided</em> make a strong case for either appellation. &quot;With every idea born in us,&quot; he declares early on, &quot;something in us rots.&quot; Throughout the book, he addresses the futile attempts of man to impose meaning on a meaningless existence--&quot;That there should be a reality hidden by appearances is, after all, quite possible; that language might render such a thing would be an absurd hope&quot;--and nurses an ongoing fascination with the possibilities death holds for release from life's madness. (When the Dead Kennedys sang, &quot;I look forward to death / This world brings me down,&quot; they might as well have been taking notes from Cioran.) Grim stuff, but presented in brilliant, crystalline form--particularly in the translation by Richard Howard, which retains Cioran's cold, detached viewpoint. ]]>
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