He sincerely mistakes his lust for romantic love, confuses his indecisiveness with the artist's temperament, and wrongly considers his idleness as the detachment of a philosopher. His mind is mediocre, yet he relentlessly pursues nobility and elegance. As a result, everything seen through his eyes is shrouded in a melancholic golden haze, with blurred contours, making things appear larger than their actual form. He is lying, but he doesn't realize he's lying; when others expose his lies, he claims that lies are beautiful. He is an idealist.

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