La patronne était là, j'ai dû la baiser, mais c'était bien par politesse. - Jean-Paul Sartre

If anyone had asked me what existence was, I would have answered, in good faith, that it was nothing, simply an empty form which was added to external things without changing anything in their nature. And then all of a sudden, there it was, clear as day: existence had suddenly unveiled itself. It had lost the harmless look of an abstract category: it was the very paste of things, this root was kneaded into existence. Or rather the root, the park gates, the bench, the sparse grass, all that had vanished: the diversity of things, their individuality, were only an appearance, a veneer. This veneer had melted, leaving soft, monstrous masses, all in disorder — naked, in a frightful, obscene nakedness.

Everything happens to every man as though the whole human race had its eyes fixed upon what he is doing and regulated its conduct accordingly.

Thus, Beauty is neither an appearance nor a being, but a relationship: the transformation of being into appearance