Author: Jean-Paul Sartre
But damn it all, they might have left me my toothbrush!
But after a bit, when they’ve got their nerve back, they start in about their toothbrushes and what-ot.
He belonged to me. INEZ: Nothing on earth belongs to you any more.
Oh, once I’d have only had to glance at them and she’d have slunk away. Is there really nothing, nothing left of me? INEZ: Nothing whatever. Nothing of you’s left on earth— not even a shadow.
Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough. Now will you open?
in life, a leading motive; that’s so, isn’t it? Well, I didn’t give a damn for wealth, or for love. I aimed at being a real man. A tough, as they say. I staked everything on the same horse… Can one possibly be a coward when one’s deliberately courted danger at every turn? And can judge a life by a single action?
You are— your life, and nothing else.
HELL IS--OTHER PEOPLE!
But, you crazy creature, what do you think you’re doing? You know quite well I’m dead.