Murder (n.) is today's problem: each day at dawn, assassins in judges' robes slip into some cell.
Murder (n.) needs less predisposition than one might suppose — and it can always be delegated.
Murder (n.) for the true rebel is identified with suicide: a life is paid for with another life.
Murder (n.) and suicide are one and the same thing before the silence of the universe, and must be accepted or rejected together.
Murder (n.) appeared to the fastidious assassins as both necessary and inexcusable — and they refused to forget either term.
Murder (n.) committed for love stays an exception, because intense love is rare; murder committed for a doctrine has no such limit.
Murder (n.) comes from rejecting mortality and desiring immortality for all — a kind of suicide, and a terrible hunger for fraternity.
Murder (n.) decreed legitimate is mobilization and war for all the Unique — so it coincides with a kind of collective suicide.
Murder (n.) is the logic by which even the best of us live: we cannot lift a finger on earth without risking someone's death.
Murder (n.) is one shot that shatters a day, and four more fired into an inert body — each a loud, fateful rap on the door of one's undoing.
Murder (n.) is deduced by the very man who trembled at a child's suffering the moment he tries to rationalize his rebellion against a murderous God.
Murder (n.) in antiquity can be neither explained nor atoned for; by the time of Lucretius, man's killing is merely a reply to the killing done by the gods.
Murder (n.) is either a desperate exception or nothing at all: a boundary one can cross only once, then must die — the rebel kills and dies to make plain that killing cannot be allowed.
Murder (n.) gives rise only to logical contradictions on the level of the absurd; on the level of rebellion it is mental laceration — killing someone whose resemblance to ourselves we have just recognized.