He walked on in silence, the solitary sound of his footsteps echoing in his head, as in a deserted street at dawn. His solitude was so complete beneath a lovely sky as mellow and serene as a good conscience, amid that busy throng, that he was amazed at his own existence; he must be somebody else's nightmare, and whoever it was would certainly awaken soon.
Jean Paul Sartre
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reblogged from Varietas
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