No doubt our love was still there, but quite simply it was unusable, heavy to carry, inert inside of us, sterile as crime or condemnation. It was no longer anything except a patience with no future and a stubborn wait.

“My life was lucky so that I met, I loved (and disappointed) only outstanding pe…”

“beaucoup de ces honnêtes gens sont des criminels qui s’ignorent.”

“La liberté est un bagne aussi longtemps qu'un seul homme est asservi sur la ter…”

“Of an apartment-building manager who had killed himself I was told he had lost …”