I was jealous of people with a God to hang onto, whereas I … soon all I’d have left would be ‘eyes to cry with’. - Georges Bataille

Entirety exists within me as exuberance … in empty longing … in … the desire to burn with desire.

All that I had loved during my life rose up like a graveyard of white tombs, in a lunar, spectral light. Fundamentally, this graveyard was a brothel. The funereal marble was alive. In some places it had hair on it.

Against this rising tide of murder, far more incisive than life (because blood is more resplendent in death than in life), it will be impossible to set anything but trivialities – the comic entreaties of old ladies.