Inseparable

by Simone de Beauvoir

Is living nothing more than that: killing one day after the other? Would I be this bored until I died?

Andrée stared at me somewhat mockingly. “Don’t you ever dream about things? Doesn’t that ever happen to you?” “No,” I replied humbly. What would I have dreamed about? I loved Andrée more than anything, and she was here with me.

I would walk for two days and two nights without eating or drinking to see Andrée for an hour, to spare her any pain: and she had no idea!

The warmth of the liquor and my indignation made me bolder; I wanted to say things to Andrée that are said only in books.