He knew all the constellations. He had seen them rise in darkness over heartbreaking coasts. - James Salter

One should not believe too strongly in a life which can easily vanish.

He could not imagine what he was doing here, what he was waiting for, what he expected to find. Paris – it was like a great terminal he was already leaving, with a multitude of signs, neon and enamel, repeated again and again as if announcing a performance. The people of Paris with their cigarettes and dogs, the stone roofs and restaurants, green buses, gray walls, he had held their attention for a moment. The affiches with his face on them had vanished but he had stayed on. He saw it clearly as, at a certain place in life, one sees both the beginning and end: Paris had discarded him.

Great lovers lie in hell, the poet says. Even now, long afterwards, I cannot destroy the images. They remain within me like the yearnings of an addict. I need only hear certain words, see certain gestures, and my thoughts begin to tumble. I despise myself for thinking of her. Even if she were dead, I would feel the same. Her existence blackens my life.