Farewell to the monsters, farewell to the saints. Farewell to pride. All that is left is men. - Jean-Paul Sartre

I get up. I move through this pale light; I see it change beneath my hands and on the sleeves of my coat: I cannot describe how much it disgusts me.

In the distance.
Above my head; above my head; and this instant which I cannot leave, which locks me in and
limits me on every side, this instant I am made of will be no more than a confused dream.

Je n'ai jamais gratté la terre ni quêté des nids, je n'ai pas herborisé ni lancé des pierres aux oiseaux. Mais les livres ont été mes oiseaux et mes nids, mes bêtes domestiques, mon étable et ma campagne.