Because the night belongs to lovers.
Love Letter
“[…]lovers who touch each other with words, whose contact with each other is made of words, and who can thus repeat themselves without end, marveling at the utterly banal, because their speech is not a language, but an idiom they share with no other, and because each gazes at themselves in the other’s gaze in a redoubling which goes from mirage to admiration.”
— Maurice Blanchot, from The Writing of the Disaster
The Wretched of the Earth
We only become what we are through the radical
and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us.
— Jean-Paul Sartre
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