All Her Life She [chantal] Had Been

A Poor Man With Nothing In His Belly Needs Hope, Illusion, More Than Bread.

What Does It Matter, All Is Grace.

And What Have You Laymen Made Of Hell? A Kind Of Penal Servitude For Eternity, On The Lines Of Your Convict Prisons On Earth, To Which You Condemn In Advance All The Wretched Felons Your Police Have Hunted From The Beginning - Enemies Of Society, As You Call Them. You're Kind Enough To Include The Blasphemers And The Profane. What Proud Or Reasonable Man Could Stomach Such A Notion Of God's Justice? And When You Find That Notion Inconvenient It's Easy Enough For You To Put It On One Side. Hell Is Not To Love Any More, Madame. Not To Love Any More!

Our Rages, Daughters Of Despair, Creep And Squirm Like Worms. Prayer Is The Only Form Of Revolt Which Remains Upright.

The World Is Eaten Up By Boredom. You Can't See It All At Once. It Is Like Dust. You Go About And Never Notice, You Breathe It In, You Eat And Drink It. It Is Sifted So Fine, It Doesn't Even Grit On Your Teeth. But Stand Still For An Instant And There It Is, Coating Your Face And Hands.