“I dreamed vaguely of killing myself to wipe out at least one of these superfluous lives. But even my death would have been
In the way. In the way, my corpse, my blood on these stones, between these plants, at the back of this smiling garden. And the decomposed flesh would have been
In the way in the earth which would receive my bones, at last, cleaned, stripped, peeled, proper and clean as teeth, it would have been
In the way: I was
In the way for eternity.”
―
Jean-Paul Sartre,
Nausea
