That old hankering

I was reading Simone de Beauvoir’s The Prime of Life – the translation of La Force de l’Age, the second volume of her memoirs – last night and arrived at a sentence that I found supremely hilarious.

It’s November, and she and Sartre are sitting on the terrace of a café in Le Havre, as one does, “complaining at length about the monotony of our future existence.” That’s not it though. This is it:

If I drank a little too much one evening I was liable to burst into floods of tears, and my old hankering after the Absolute would be aroused again.

You’re welcome.

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