Nothing is more tempting than to use another person’s existence to escape from your own responsibility of living your life well. We cooked up so many devious means and elaborate facilities, a divinised love concept among the most powerful one, to run away from our own sufferings and the burden of responsibility to live the life that has been granted to us as a rare gift.

That is what Proust described as “vague, sentimental glow that our superficial self enjoys at being able to lean on another person as a convenient prop, and draw from the comfort and consolation that we cannot find within ourselves.”

Most of the time we look away from ourselves, inventing a number of grandiose excuses to do so.