To be God, naked, solar, in the rainy night, on a field: red, divinely, manuring with the majesty of a tempest, the face grimacing, torn apart, being IMPOSSIBLE in tears: who knew, before me, what majesty is?
— Georges Bataille
“Bataille denudes himself, exposes himself, his exhibition aims at destroying all literature. He has a holocaust of words. Bataille speaks about man’s condition, not his nature. His tone recalls the scornful aggressiveness of the surrealist. Bataille has survived the death of God. In him, reality is conflict.”
— Jean Paul Sartre
