I read this in January of 2000.
Reading this was an amazing experience. I certainly must commend his honesty, because this account of his youth spares nothing in showing him to be selfish, callous, self-centered and utterly lacking in compassion and empathy. His only true continuing interest seems to be in gratifying his ever-present lust, and his only qualm about it all is the fear of syphilis.
From the "Notes" and "Chronology" appended, I deduce that in his maturity he received numerous literary prizes and commendations. Perhaps his mature work expressed a different soul than the one recorded within.
Since he is not only dust, but is, in large measure, forgotten, I feel dreadfully sorry for him and take this whole memoir as a prime example of how NOT to live your life.