From Maria's diary, on a day when [she couldn't work]:
If I were to tell someone about my life today, I could
do it in a way that would make them think me a
brave, happy, independent woman. Rubbish: I am not
even allowed to mention the only word that is more
important than the eleven minutes -- love.
All my life, I thought love as some kind of
voluntary enslavement. Well, that's a lie: freedom only
exists when love is present. The person who gives him
or herself wholly, the person who feels freest, is the
person who loves most wholeheartedly.
And the person who loves wholeheartedly feels free.
That is why, regardless of what I might experience,
do or learn, nothing makes sense. I hope this time passes
quickly, so that I can resume my search for myself -- in
the form of a man who understands me and does not
make me suffer.
But what am I saying? In love, no one can harm
anyone else; we are each of us responsible for our own
feelings and cannot blame someone else for what we
feel.
It hurt when I lost each of the various men I fell in
love with. Now, though, I am convinced that no one
loses anyone, because no one owns anyone.
That is the true experience of freedom: having the
most important thing in the world without owning it.
