Here is a man to whom all are drawn as to the source of all laughter, as to the bottom of all slopes, as to the movement to which all words point. Brightest of smiles, glibbest of lips, his whole personality implying answers to all of life’s despairs. Everyone is in love with him, and he likewise is in love…not with them, nor with himself (straight shot through subtleties of vanity)—but with their love for him.
The irony of his character is as sharp as his wit, and the deepest of gazes will send the onlooker into a despair more profound than the happy heights are high to which he escorts his adorers: for it is he who loves the crowd’s attention—who may be not infinitely virtuous but have rather an infinitely sensitive ear for an audience—who is most alone.
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