As for the square at Meknes, where I used to go every day, it's even simpler: I do not see it at all anymore. All that remains is the vague feeling t… - Jean-Paul Sartre

certain details, somewhat curtailed, live in my memory. But I don't see anything anymore: I can search the past in vain, I can only find these scraps of images and I am not sure what they represent, whether they are memories or just fiction.

But I can't see anything any more: however much I search the past I can only retrieve scraps of images and I am not sure what they represent, nor whether they are remembered or invented.

If I am not mistaken, if all the signs which have been amassed are precursors of a new overthrow in my life, well then I am terrified. It isn't that my life is rich, or weighty or precious. But I'm afraid of what will be born and take possession of me — and drag me — where? Shall I have to go off again, leaving my research, my book and everything else unfinished? Shall I awake in a few months, in a few years, broken, deceived, in the midst of new ruins? I would like to see the truth clearly before it is too late.

If you're lonely when you're alone, you're in bad company.

От кого? От какво е този блудкаво-горчив вкус в устата ми? От човека? От звяра? От мен? Това е вкусът на нашия век. Щастливи столетия, вие не познавате нашата омраза, как ще разберете тогава гибелната мощ на нашата смъртоносна любов? Любов, омраза, един плюс един... Оправдайте ни! Този век е жена, тя ражда; нима ще осъдите собствената си майка? А? Отговорете де! Може би след нашия век няма да има вече други векове. Може би някоя бомба ще е изгасила всички светлини. Всичко ще е мъртво - очи, съдии, време. Нощ. О, съд на нощта, ти, който си бил, който ще бъдеш, който си - аз бях. Аз бях!