Book: Nausea. Page 4

Where would I store my past? The past in a pocket will not put, it is necessary to have a house where to place it. I only have my body, a lone man with his lonely body, cannot hold the memories, they pass through it. I have no right to complain: I wanted to be free.

He went into raptures, and I turn out the lights. I now have one. Not quite one. There is still this idea, she's there, she waits. She curled up like an enormous cat; it explains nothing, not moving, she just says, "no." No, I did not have any adventures.

She thinks about her grief a little, it little by little, a little today, a little tomorrow <...>.
She spends her grief like a miser. She must be just stingy and joys. Wonder sometimes does she really want to get rid of the monotonous feeling of this grumbling, which resumes as soon as she stops singing, not once does she really want to experience the full measure of suffering, to plunge into despair.
However, it is impossible - she is trapped.

And cheeks all ran and I ran to the ears...

Life makes sense if we give it to her. First, we need to act, for something to take. And then when going to speculate, it's too late - you're already busy.

My memories are like gold in my purse, donated by the devil opens it, and there dry leaves.

The purpose of life is, Monsieur, the goal is... there are people.

We all do what we have to eat and drink to save your precious existence, and yet in existence, there is no, well, no sense.

The sea, too, the prayer book, it testifies of God.

A love affair where better to be in the past than in the present - in the distance we can judge, to compare, to consider.

To exist, it is necessary to keep heap.

Yes, they whole life stuck in stupefied drowsiness, impatience got married with out of the blue, at random hade children. In cafes, at weddings, at funerals met with other people. From time to time, once in a whirlpool, floundered and struggled, not knowing what was happening to them. All that was going around, started and ended outside the field of view a vague oblong, events, fight from afar, in passing, touched them, and when they wanted to see what it is, it was all over.

Win-win situation - raw material, it has to be processed.

I smile watching his recovery - in the hours when his place is empty, and emptied his head. From two to four the café is empty, then Mr Pascal sleepily takes a few steps, the waiters turn out the light, and his consciousness shuts down - alone this man was always sleeping.