Tomber amoureux. To fall in love. Does it occur suddenly or gradually?
If gradually, when is the moment “already”? I would fall in love with a
monkey made of rags. With a plywood squirrel. With a botanical atlas.
With an oriole. With a ferret. With a marten in a picture. With the
forest one sees to the right when riding in a cart to Jaszuny. With a
poem by a little-known poet. With human beings whose names still move
me. And always the object of love was enveloped in erotic fantasy or was
submitted, as in Stendhal, to a “cristallisation,” so it is frightful
to think of that object as it was, naked among the naked things, and of
the fairy tales about it one invents. Yes, I was often in love with
something or someone. Yet falling in love is not the same as being able
to love. That is something different.