As I sit alone in my beloved’s apartment while she is at work, I often reach for Pascal’s book on the coffee table next to my lounge chair. And it always feels soothing in my hands. I browse through it back and forth without ever looking for anything in particular. Pascal is like a brother to me, anyhow. Although I could not care less about Jesus Christ and Christianity, both of which are among his favorite subjects, I read whatever he has to say about them nonetheless. What the heck, nobody is perfect. But I am always sure to come across something dear to me. Something close to my heart. Whenever I copy his thoughts into my own book, a commonplace book for true, I feel that I am quoting no-one but myself. And in French, of all languages. Having had my fill, I close his book and stare at his face on the front cover. My beloved looks straight into my eyes with a loving smile (“The Likeness,” April 13, 2014). Ah, those sparkling eyes! That fabulous nose! Overtaken by emotions, I put the book back in its place on the coffee table, and I nod a few times.