« At the hospital. I rummage through the secretaries' trash can, where I threw the envelope of a patient's mail. After reading it in my office, I realized that there was no address on the letter, which requires a consultation. Distracted or disturbed patients sometimes do that. Quickly, get this address on the envelope, impossible to leave this sad mail unanswered! I search, I stir, I flip the old papers, one or two disposable handkerchiefs, coffee cups a little sticky. Pfff... There are lots of envelopes, of course, but where's mine? The nurses and secretaries are laughing at me, in the trash. It makes me laugh too, but I feel perfectly out of place doing this. Oddly enough, I hear a little voice saying to me, "Everything is OK, you're doing exactly your job, and you're exactly in your place, rummaging through the garbage cans of suffering; still looking a little. »

« You think of Pascal and his Memorial, those feverish notes that he always wore on him and found after his death in the lining of his garment. You think of that moment of fire and faith that he experienced on Monday, November 23, 1654, "between 10:30 p.m. and about 12:30 a.m. until about 12:30 a.m." Struck by grace, "God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob," not philosophers and scholars." No cogitations or reflections, but a revelation, "Certainty. Certainty. Feeling. Joy. Peace. Pascal who falls to his knees under the violence of what he is living and understanding. "Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy." That pulsates and that includes, "Total and gentle renunciation." »

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