Widow's address at the cemetery:

... We will put an end to mourning, and replace tears by sirens screeching
from one continent to another. Pavilions of intense joy and widowers with the sadness of poison. To lick the penumbra and float in the big mouth filled with honey and excrement. I spread demoralization wherever I go, and cast my hand from heaven to hell, my eyes from hell to heaven. One dies as a hero or as an idiot, which is the same thing. The only word that is not ephemeral is the word death. You probably enjoy life, but you've got some bad habits. You're too fond of what you've been taught to be fond of. Cemeteries, melancholy, the tragic lover, Venetian gondolas. You shout at the moon. If you weren't so cowardly, sinking under the weight of all those lofty thoughts or non-existent abstractions you've been forced into, all that nonsense dressed up as dogman, you'd stand up straight and play the massacre game, just like we do. But you're too scared ...

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