movements never quite exist, they are passages, intermediaries between two existences, moments of weakness, I expected to see them come out of nothin… - Jean-Paul Sartre

It's your weakness gives them their strength. Mark how they dare not speak to me. A nameless horror has descended on you, keeping us apart. And yet why should this be? What have you lived through that I have not shared? Do you imagine that my mother's cries will ever cease ringing in my ears? Or that my eyes will ever cease to see her great sad eyes, lakes of lambent darkness in the pallor of it will ever cease ravaging my heart? But what matter? I am free. Beyond anguish, beyond remorse. Free. And at one with myself. No, you must not loathe yourself, Electra. Give me your hand. I shall never forsake you.

Perhaps its inevitable, perhaps one has to choose between being nothing at all and impersonating what one is.

...for one cannot enter an image unless one makes oneself imaginary