Sue Lyon. December, 1964.
| The Lover by Marguerite Duras (1984)
I’d like to eat Hélène Lagonelle’s breasts as he eats mine in the room in the Chinese town where I go every night to increase my knowledge of God. I’d like to devour and be devoured by those flour-white breasts of hers.
I am worn out with desire for Hélène Lagonelle.
I am worn out with desire.
So do I. I’ve read some quotes from the book and it’s simply great! Her writting is deep and touching.
This is a confession: I love you. Last Sunday in church — bad you, who refused to see our beautiful new windows! — only last Sunday, my dear one, when I asked the Lord what to do about, I Was told to act as I am acting now. You see, there is no alternative. I have loved you from the minute I saw you. I am a passionate and lonely woman and you are the love of my life.
Now my dearest, dearest, mon cher monsieur, you have read this; now you know. So, will you please, at once, pack and leave. This is a landlady’s order. I am dismissing a lodger. I am kicking you out. Go! Scram! Departez! I shall be back by dinnertime, if I do eighty both ways and don’t have an accident (but what would it matter?), and I do not wish to find you in the house. Please, please, leave at once, now, do not even read this absurd note to the end. Go. Adieu.
The situation, cheri, is quite simple. Of course, I know with absolute certainty that I am nothing to you, nothing at all. Oh yes, you enjoy talking to me (and kidding poor me), you have grown fond of our friendly house, of the books I like, of my lovely garden, even of Lo’s noisy ways - but I am nothing to you. Right? Right. Nothing to you whatever. But if, after reading my “confession,” you decided, in your dark romantic European way, that I am attractive enough for you to take advantage of my letter and make a pass at me, then you would be a criminal — worse than a kidnaper who rapes a child. You see, cheri. If you decided to stay, if I found you at home (which I know I won’t — that’s why I am able to go on like this), the fact of your remaining would only mean one thing: that you want me as much as I do you: a lifelong mate; and that you are ready to link up your life with mine forever and ever and be father to my little girl.
Let me rave and ramble on for a teeny while more, my dearest, since I know this letter has been now torn by you, and pieces (illegible) in the vortex of the toilet. My dearest, mon tres, tres cher, what a world of love I have built up for you during this miraculous June! I know how reserved you are, how “British.” Your old-world reticence, your sense of decorum may be shocked by the boldness of an American girl! You who conceal your strongest feelings must think me a shameless little idiot for throwing open your poor bruised heart like this. In years gone by, many disappointments came my way. Mr. Haze was a splendid person, a sterling soul, but he happened to be twenty years my senior, and — well, let us not gossip about the past. My dearest, your curiosity must be well satisfied if you have ignored my request and read this letter to the bitter end. Never mind. Destroy it and go. Do not forget to leave the key on the desk in your room. And some scrap of address so that I could refund the twelve dollars I owe you til the end of the month. Good-bye, dear one. Pray for me — if you ever pray.
- Charlotte Haze, Lolita
Letter to Humbert Humbert