Evil is the product of the ability of humans to make abstract that which is concrete.
Existence precedes and rules essence.
It answers the question that was tormenting you: my love, you are not 'one thing in my life' - not even the most important - because my life no longer belongs to me because...you are always me.
I don't know. Everything. Living. Smoking.
I think that is the big danger in keeping a diary: you exaggerate everything.
Thrown into the atmosphere of action [in 1954], I suddenly understood the kind of neurosis that dominated all my previous work. I had not been able to recognize it before: I was inside. Simone de Beauvoir had guessed these reasons before I did.