Milan Kundera. The waltz of goodbye (№ 68335)

I love my own wife. That's my erotic secret, which most people are completely incomprehensible. Nobody understands, least of all my wife. She thinks that love is expressed only in the fact that for you there is no other women. It's downright nonsense! I am constantly drawn to one or another of another woman, but if I master it, some powerful spring throws me back to Camille. Sometimes I think I'm looking for other women just for the sake of this spring, for the sake of the cast and a delightful flight (full of tenderness, desire and humility) to his own wife that with each new betrayal love more and more.