…The gossip-mill, he thinks, turning day and night, grinding reputations. The community of the righteous , holding their sessions in corners, over the telephone, behind closed doors. Gleeful whispers. Schadenfreude. First the sentence, then the trial…
… When did a sheep last die of old age? Sheep do not own themselves, do not own their lives. They exist to be used, every last ounce of them, their flesh to be eaten, their bones to be crushed and fed to poultry. Nothing escapes, except perhaps the gall bladder, which no one will eat. Descartes should have thought of that. The soul, suspended in the dark, bitter gall, hiding…
… Βut he is too depressed to act. Let it all go to hell, he thinks, and sinks into a chair and closes his eyes…
… A life of a superannuated scholar, without hope, without prospect: is that what he is prepared to settle for?…
… You behave as if everything I do is part of the story of your life. You are the main character, I am a minor character who doesn’t make an appearance until halfway through. Well, contrary to what you think, people are not divided into major and minor. I am not minor. I have a life of my own, just as important to me as yours is to you, and in my life I am the one who makes the decisions…
… “How humiliating” he says finally. “Such high hopes, and to end like this”. “Yes, I agree, it is humiliating. But perhaps that is a good point to start from again. Perhaps that is what I must learn to accept. To start at ground level. With nothing. Not with nothing but. With nothing. No cards, no weapons, no property, no rights, no dignity”. “Like a dog”. “Yes, like a dog”…
