Tree, face, orgy, concentration camp. We look at all this without making concessions…We roll downward, faster as we go, and we drag the world with us…Everything had been simple, under a clear light without traps. On the other side of the wall, the fire or the ditch, on the other side…Be still. The fixed look on the cadaver. We think there are laughs and flowers, that is true…so many things are or seem truth itself… We say arm or stake. We have already said it. So what? Sweet, sweet, glossy look, enchanting look of the afternoon partially made …We only want the gift of a moment of absolute quietude on the way towards the collapse, when we break everything that binds us, every boundary and we are already nothing.
(From the book Those Who Are About to Die Salute You, 2006 by Oriol Sàbat, translated from Catalan by Karen Smith and Gil Garcia)