“The universe,” said Emmanuelle, “is just a cold, smooth piece of percale: we’ve put in a few pleats to make it more pleasing. Or, at least, that’s what we tell ourselves, in order to leave our own mark upon it.” “The great flatiron of time will take care of that. Come back in a couple of hundred millennia and tell me if you’ll see any trace left of your dressmaker’s art!” “Well, perhaps love won’t be there any more,” said Emmanuelle, “but its traces will remain, all right.”
I think this makes the difference between Emmanuelle and Mario. Mario wouldn't be willing to consider love to be a light thrown into the future - Emmanuelle, in her idealism, her empathy, and her compassion, does.
