A menudo curar es mutilar. - Simone de Beauvoir

There was only one hope left to me - Andre. But could he fill this emptiness within me? Had he loved me as I loved him? At the beginning I think he did; or rather the question never arose of either of us, for we were so happy together. But when his work no longer satisfied him, did he come to the conclusion that our love was not enough for him? Did it disappoint him? I think he looks upon me as a mathematical constant whose disappearance would take him very much aback without in any way altering his destiny, since the heart of the matter lies elsewhere.

There is no justification for present existence other than its expansion into an indefinitely open future.

You said something very true the other day: that for us, nudity begins with the face.