Ugh I don't know, this book burrowed into my brain, so interesting and engrossing. But Sartre and I don't seem to agree on whether humans are good or not.
There is a passage toward the middle of the book that is so visceral in its description of anxiety that I still think about it whenever I'm approaching panic in the city, and it strangely calms me. In it the protagonist describes seeing the gnarled roots of a tree in his local park and really being hit with the unknowability of all things, the alienation of everyday life. It's a beautiful and raw excerpt that I'll add here when I have the book handy.
Sartre, Jean-Paul. Nausea. New York, NY: New Directions Books, 1938. Printed Book.