A priest advances slowly, reading his breviary. Now and then he raises his head and looks at the sea approvingly:–the sea is also a breviary, it speaks of God. Delicate colours, delicate perfumes, souls of spring. ‘What a lovely day, the sea is green, I like this dry cold better than the damp.’ Poets! If I grabbed one of them by the back of the coat, if I told him: ‘Come, help me,’ he’d think, ‘What’s this crab doing here?’ and would run off, leaving his coat in my hands.
I turn back, lean both hands on the balustrade. The true sea is cold and black, full of animals; it crawls under this thin green film made to deceive human beings. The sylphs all round me have let themselves be taken in: they only see the thing film, which proves the existence of God. I see beneath it! The veneer melts, the shining velvety scales, the scales of God’s catch explode everywhere at my look, they split and gape. Here is the Saint-Elemir tramway, I turn round and the objects turn with me, pale and green as oysters.
Sartre, pg. 124 Nausea
C.S. Lewis would pity him for being so adept at seeing through things that he sees nothing.