I meet you. I remember you. Who are you? Youโre destroying me. Youโre good for me. How could I know this city was tailor-made for love? How could I know you fit my body like a glove? I like you. How unlikely. I like you. How slow all of a sudden. How sweet. You cannot know. Youโre destroying me. Youโre good for me. Youโre destroying me. Youโre good for me. I have time. Please, devour me. Deform me to the point of ugliness. Why not you? Why not you in this city and in this night, so like other cities and other nights you can hardly tell the difference? I beg of you.
Marguerite DurasWhen you wept it was just over yourself and not because of the marvelous impossibility of reaching her through the difference that separates you.
Marguerite DurasIt has been my face. It's got older still, or course, but less, comparatively, than it would otherwise have done. It's scored with deep, dry wrinkles, the skin is cracked. But my face hasn't collapsed, as some with fine feature have done. It's kept the same contours, but its substance has been laid waste. I have a face laid waste.
Marguerite Duras