"I am entitled to be right; I walk amongst their breathing; the chain across the neck with the ID tag--a number for rapid identification in case of the dismemberment or carbonization of our body--jingles slightly as the body turns to dream; their nudity leaves them exposed to that shake, that naked nakedness of those the Law has bruised, endangered, brushed. Me, doubt that recedes; they are condemned, cast out in youth--what to make of those whose feeling is too weak to have compassion for those who, out of too much feeling, kill. Here, in the small, determined, pre-morning breeze that rushes through the upturned windows, the good and the cruel are equals, for in dreams as in infancy, the human being is moved by the forces of his truth, under he palm of a God who is providence for murderers."
"Flash of inspiration, it is from the beast that I must write, from the speaking idiot: there is still a bit of French psychology, some characters, and soon the epic of the idiot, the epic of obsession: What is Antigone, Electra, if not that?... the Christ himself... the more limited the mental sphere, the more reduced the concerns, the more the Word in turn is beautiful and sweeping: obsession as piercing and shattering the real."