My memories are like coins in the devil’s purse: when you open it you find only dead leaves. - Jean-Paul Sartre

He yawned. He had finished the day and he had also finished with his youth. Various well-bred moralities had already discreetly offered him their services: disillusioned epicureanism, smiling tolerance, resignation, common sense stoicism - all the aids whereby a man may savour, minute by minute, like a connoisseur, the failure of a life.

all of us abandon ourselves to existence, because we were among
ourselves, only among ourselves, it has taken us unawares, in the disorder, the day to day drift: I am
ashamed for myself and for what exists in front of it.

Hiçbir şey değişmedi, ama yine de her şey başka bir biçimde var olup gidiyor. Anlatamıyorum. Bulantıya benziyor bu, ama aynı zamanda onun tam tersi.