« Your testosterone and horns were a problem for the function you are given, for the use to which your body is intended. You have to get to know this idea: this body you inhabit, because you were born in it, but it is not yours. You have no power over him, you don't even have the usufruit. It belongs to humanity who will do what it wants until your death and especially after. You are nothing but a resource that will be transformed into cellophane meat, shoes, wallets, belts, sofas, bags of fertilizer... You're already these objects in the making. »

« In the vehicle that will offer you your first and last trip; The bridge is too steep. A crane is there to put you in the dumpster; The straps that lift you hurt horribly, but you're so tired you barely moan. Twelve dairy slaves, having reached their fatal retirement, are loaded with you into this funeral vehicle. The longevity of a cow like you is twenty years, if its condition of life is peaceful, but your enslavement exhausts you as long as you are at the end of the road at only five years. Now, you're five years old. »

« The day is waning. Soon, in the thickening darkness, you hear the cacophony of hundreds of moans and you feel the olfactory hustle and bustle of all those presences that release pheromones of anguish. Your short lives are meticulously programmed. Your spells are sealed. The time of your death is even expected long before you are born. Your time on death row is planned. Your flesh and skin are already reserved by meat shops and tanneries. There is no reason to be moved by it, consumers and consumers will tell you; the lion eats the gazelle, that's the way it is. Some will add, with a fatalistic mimic underlining the relevance of the subject, that plants also suffer. »