This book of the course, the path, this "Book on the Road", this flood of light of knowledge on our wordless pastures, this creative gaze that brings us a face and a name from the mass of the public, that sees itself in each of us and each of us in itself, this sharp and evil cry that drives us out of the camps of silent subjection, this faithful salt marsh before our heavy bond of human homeland, our image of man from the stone of violence. this avowed effort to extract, to be freed from the beast, to shake off the stone, our power to shake off, was and made absolute also our own indomitable hostility to our power to shake off; the book was set on fire.
If the word has sin and grace in this eternal destruction and this endless repair, - it has, "From the beginning the thing was", this book of the faithful thing between the past and the future opened our present of unbroken people, and this "Book on the road" we burned,
and it opened, unfolded, went and went for years, the barren world of falsehood, the world of silent slaughter, yoked crow, speechless submission. But that silent kingdom of that defrauded thing is beyond the border pillars of this wide and high triumphal arch of the "Book", the book has no gates that open on that earth, this side of the triumphal arch is our Charentian world of high people, the new world of the unbroken thing, the native copper-headed castle and the copper wolf on the front of that castle.