The flesh is the pure contingency of presence. - Jean-Paul Sartre

In any case, if you ever leave me with a handsome man, do not tell me that you trust me because, let me warn you: that is not what will prevent me from deceiving you, if I want to. On the contrary.

I am alone in this white, garden-rimmed street. Alone and free. But this freedom is rather like death.

I love you enormously. I’m spending a little time away from you — quite absurd and contingent. I would so like to see you, my stubborn little thing, and tell you my stories and hold your hand. You are my love, you good little being. Far from you I measure the nothingness of the flesh, and I am not having much fun.