INEZ: You’re lovely, Estelle.
ESTELLE: But how can I rely upon your taste? Is it the same as my taste? Oh, how sickening it all is, enough to drive one crazy!
INEZ: I HAVE your taste, my dear, because I like you so much. Look at me. No, straight. Now smile. I’m not so ugly, either. Am I not nicer than your glass?
ESTELLE: Oh, I don’t know. You scare me rather. My reflection in the glass never did that; of course, I knew it so well. Like something I had tamed…I’m going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.
INEZ: And why shouldn’t you “tame”me? Listen! I want you to call me Inez. We must be great friends.
ESTELLE: I don’t make friends with women very easily.
INEZ:Not with postal clerks, you mean? Hello, what’s that— that nasty red spot at the bottom of your cheek? A pimple?
ESTELLE: A pimple? Oh, how simply foul! Where!
INEZ:There…You know the way they catch larks— with a mirror? I’m your lark-mirror, my dear, and you can’t escape me…There isn’t any pimple, not a trace of one. So what about it? Suppose the mirror started telling lies? Or suppose I covered my eyes—as he is doing— and refused to look at you, all that loveliness of yours would be wasted on the desert air.
No Exit - Jean Paul Sartre