I live alone, entirely alone. I never speak to
anyone,
never; I receive nothing, I give nothing...
When you live alone you no longer know what it is to
tell something:
the plausible disappears at the same time as the
fiends.
You let events flow past; suddenly you see people pop
up who speak and
who go away,
you plunge into stories without beginning or end: you
make a terrible
witness.
But in compensation, one misses nothing, no
improbability or story too
tall to be believed in cafes.
Jean Paul Sartre (1905-1980) in Nausea
