Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that's very beautiful. But what would they nourish their intimate talk with? However contemptible… - Milan Kundera

Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that's beautiful.

Extremes means borders beyond which life ends, and a passion for extremism, in art and in politics, is a veiled longing for death.

Why has the pleasure of slowness disappeared? Ah, where have they gone, the amblers of yesteryear? Where have they gone, those loafing heroes of folk song, those vagabonds who roam from one mill to another and bed down under the stars?

Was it simply the hysteria of a man, who, aware deep down of his inaptitude for love, felt the self-deluding need to simulate it?