And I, I love them for what they are.  With all their filth and all their vices.  I love their voices and their warm grasping hands, and their skin, the nudest skin of all, and their uneasy glances, and the desperate struggle each has to pursue against anguish and against death.  For me, one man more or less in the world is something that counts.  It's something precious.  You, I know you now, you are a destroyer.  You detest men because you detest yourself.  Your purity resembles death.  The revolution you dream of is not ours.  You don't want to change the world, you want to blow it up.