«Sartre, in particular, was always speaking to women of his love and devotion, his inability to live without them--every banality of popular romance. Words constituted his principal means of seduction: his physical approaches were on the order of groping in restaurants and grabbing kisses in taxis. With the publication of "Letters to Sartre," it was clear that, privately, he and Beauvoir held most of the people in their lives in varying degrees of contempt. They enjoyed, especially, recounting to each other the lies they were telling.»
--"Stand By Your Man": The strange liaison of Sartre and Beauvoir.
Yay mental health! Handing over the philosophical reins of civilization to scummy celebrities is always a great idea!
To repeat a pullquote from a couple months back:
«But our sceptics reckon that in France an intellectual is another name for someone who sleeps around, and suspect that the intellectuals' public influence explains the hypocrisy, cruelty and inconsistency of French governments.
[...]This year is the centenary of Sartre's birth as well as the 25th anniversary of his death. And for most of his life he was box-office material. Small, ugly and smelly, he was the supremely useful French intellectual of the 20th century because he seemed to confirm so many prejudices about the breed. Some who met him thought the odour that emanated was goat-like. And the sex life certainly inclined in the same direction.»
So, in this idealized France, would ESR get a lot of airtime and/or poontang? Or maybe he'd be a heavily-subsidized film director.
I think I just gave myself nightmares.
(First article is via The New Yorker RSS feed)