“We, at least I, need monsters. Without monsters, there are no heroes. Something has to be black and white.~Lew Fonesca ”

“Karpo, as always, was dressed in black. His leather coat was black. Even his scarf and fur hat were black. Rostnikov thought that clothes reflected the people who wore them. Rostnikov himself dressed neatly, conservatively, in old comfortable suits and ties Sarah had bought for him at market stalls. As for Karpo's choice of black, Rostnikov was not given to simple judgment. He himself was rather fond of black, which was either the absence of color or the totality of color. There was a statement in black, he thought. Black said, You cannot penetrate my being by looking at my exterior. I am a dark cipher.”

“Author's PrayerIf I speak for the dead, I mustleave this animal of my body,I must write the same poem over and overfor the empty page is a white flag of their surrender.If I speak of them, I must walkon the edge of myself, I must live as a blind manwho runs through the rooms withouttouching the furniture.Yes, I live. I can cross the streets asking "What yearis it?"I can dance in my sleep and laughin front of the mirror.Even sleep is a prayer, Lord,I will praise your madness, andin a language not mine, speakof music that wakes us, musicin which we move. For whatever I sayis a kind of petition and the darkest daysmust I praise.”

“She raised her head finally. He looked the same, but then, he always did. She'd seem him kill twice, and he betrayed no reaction at all. He was a monster, not even human.But he was her monster...”

“I will praise your madness, andin a language not mine, speakof music that wakes us, musicin which we move. For whatever I sayis a kind of petition, and the darkestdays must I praise.”

“A Ballad of Going Down to the StoreFirst I went down to the streetby means of the stairs, just imagine it, by means of the stairs. Then people known to people unknownpassed me by and I passed them by. Regretthat you did not seehow people walk,regret!I entered a complete store:lamps of glass were glowing. I saw somebody - he sat down - and what did I hear? what did I hear? rustling of bags and human talk. And indeed,indeed,I returned. --Miron Bialoszewski (Poland, 1922-1983)”

“One would think of a boy layingsyllables with his tongueonto a woman’s skin: those are linessewn entirely of silence.”