...az őrület egy homályban tartott kérdés, amelyre van válasz ugyan, csak olyan, amit egy néma mond egy süketnek. - László Krasznahorkai

It would be better for you to turn around and go into the thick grasses, there where one of those strange grassy islets in the riverbed will completely cover you, it would be better if you do this for once and for all, because if you come back tomorrow, or after tomorrow, there will be no one at all to understand, no one to look, not even a single one among all your natural enemies that will be able to see who you really are; it would be better for you to go away this very evening when twilight begins to fall, it would be better for you to retreat with the others, if night begins to descend, and you should not come back if tomorrow, or after tomorrow, dawn breaks, because for you it will be much better for there to be no tomorrow and no day after tomorrow; so hide away now in the grass, sink down, fall onto your side, let your eyes slowly close, and die, for there is no point in the sublimity that you bear, die at midnight in the grass, sink down and fall, and let it be like that — breathe your last.

Tam o anda tüm olan biteni neyin harekete geçirdiğini kavradı, varoluşun itici gücünün mecburiter olduğunu, itici gücün motivasyonu doğurduğunu, motivasyonun ise belirlenmiş ilişkiler içinde saldırgan bir katılımı sağladığını, varlığımızın bulunduğu bu katılım noktasından, araştırmacı reflekslerinin önceden belirlenmiş dizisini kullanarak kendisi için faydalı olanı bulmaya çabaladığı noktada, varlığın tümlüğünün aslında bu arzulanan ilişkinin gerçekte var olup olmamasına bağlı olduğunu, tüm bunların sabrın yeterliliğine, mücadelenin incelikli noktalarına ve tesadüflerine göre şekillendiği ve başarılı hareketin, benliksiz varlığın, tam deneme yanılma niteliği taşıdığını kavradı.

how could he describe what so weighed him down, how could he explain how long ago he had given up the idea of thought, the point at which he first understood the way things were and knew that any sense we had of existence was merely a reminder of the incomprehensible futility of existence, a futility that would repeat itself ad infinitum, to the end of time and that, no, it wasn’t a matter of chance and its extraordinary, inexhaustible, triumphant, unconquerable power working to bring matters to birth or annihilation, but rather the matter of a shadowy demonic purpose, something embedded deep in the heart of things, in the texture of the relationship between things, the stench of whose purpose filled every atom, that it was a curse, a form of damnation, that the world was the product of scorn, and God help the sanity of those who called themselves thinkers,