The idea is still there, unnameable. It waits, peacefully. Now it seems to say: "Yes? Is that what you wanted? Well, that's exactly what you've never had {remember you fooled yourself with words, you called the glitter of travel, the love of women, quarrels, and trinkets adventure} and this is what you'll never have-and no one other than yourself." But Why? WHY?
( Jean-Paul Sartre )
[ Nausea ]
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