"But I'm not dead!" Tereza cried. "I can still feel!" "So can we," the corpses laughed. - Milan Kundera

We will never remember anything by sitting in one place waiting for the memories to come back to us of their own accord! Memories are scattered all over the world. We must travel if we want to find them and flush them from their hiding places!

Leroy's reasoning is dry as a razor, and Chantal agrees: love as an exaltation of two individuals, love as fidelity, passionate attachment to a single person - no, that doesn't exist. And if it does exist, it is only as self-punishment, willful blindness, escape into a monastery. She tells herself that even if it does exist, love ought not to exist, and the idea does not maker her bitter, on the contrary, it produces a bliss that spreads throughout her body. She thinks of the metaphor of the rose that moves through all men and tells herself that she has been living locked away by love and now she is ready to obey the myth of the rose and merge with its giddy fragrance.

تنشأ العاطفة بداخلنا فى غفلة منّا وغالبًا ما يكون ذلك ضد إرادتنا. وبمجرد أن نتعمّد الاحساس بها لا تعود العاطفة عاطفة ، بل تتحول إلى محاكاة عاطفة ، وإلى استعراض لها.