Oct 10, 2022
"Outside. In the street.
Everything happened outside: her room was a prison.
Human lives were decided everywhere, north and east and south, everywhere in that envenomed night, pitted with flashes, echoing with whispers and clandestine meetings, everywhere except here, where she remained immured, exactly where nothing whatever happenedā¦.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā "Outside.
Everything is outside: the trees on the quay, the two houses by the bridge that lend a pink flush to the darkness, the petrified gallop of Henri IV above my head--solid objects, all of them.
Inside, nothing, not even a puff of smoke, there is no inside, there is nothing.
Myself: nothing.
I am free, he said to himself, and his mouth was dry."
Sartre, The Repreve, 1945, P 362
