She thought: ‘midday!’ The ceiling was grey like the sky at dawn, but the heat was of midday. Marcelle went to bed late and was no longer acquainted with the morning hours; she sometimes had the feeling that her life had come to stop one day at noon, and she herself was an embodied, eternal noontide brooding upon her little world, a dank and rainy world, without scope or purpose. Outside – bright daylight, and bright-coloured frocks.
… A human being who wakened in the morning with a queasy stomach, with fifteen hours to kill before next bed-time, had not much use for freedom. Freedom didn’t help a person to live.
– Jean Paul Sartre: the age of reason