No matter who you might kill, any human being whatsoever if takes your fancy, the most important is your suffering, your own suffering, and not his, you will never reach inside another’s suffering, even the atrocious death of an outsider you didn’t kill will make you suffer more than it did him, him he’s dead, no matter then, what matters is my suffering, and I suffer from what matters to me, and what matters to me is life, life is nothing but suffering, and nothing to appease it, even death, Mesrine suffered, he is a bit like those characters in Flaubert who cannot stand still, alert all the time, like animals, because what is more anxious than an animal, always on his guards, especially if like the ganster animal, he is chased by a pack of cops, Mesrine then is always about to take off, always fleeing or coming back to his point of escape, Mesrine had a moral code however, and it was his suffering, everything made him suffer, prison was his suffering, money also, what suffering money is, to him living free signified having money, not working,  because that is all that is on offer in this society, to work, to earn money and live, but not free, the morality of others was also his suffering, the law, the State, society his suffering, and death also, all that was the source of his suffering to him Mesrine, but Mesrine had not read the Ethics, my own ethics said Mesrine, it’s my ethics and it’s me, I am all ethics and always ready to listen, to listen to time, time I listen to it and then I shoot it, I kill time with my ethics, Mesrine and his worthless ethics, he was a kind of poet, but a worthless one, he’s a poet with guns, sure he’s not Arthur Craven or Arthur Rimbaud, he’s not the man with soles of wind, he’d be nearer to the man with the belt of gold, but he is above all the man devoid of himself, devoid of his own story, the man who lives in the times of discipline and punish, yes Mesrine is not a legendary statue, a refined and intelligent guy with ethics deep down, ethics melting like butter, at the far end of his lines which are lines of life, and in his life Mesrine escapes the patterning forces, Mesrine substracts himself from the society of control, Mesrine escapes in spite of his condition the dressage of individuals, escapes the obsession of punishment and of making a pet of man, the pet of the powerful, Mesrine had not read the Ethics, because nobody made this man read the Ethics, and made sure he wouldn’t, because the State, the Law, society, morality and money, as well as prisons and death demand heads, all these things demand heads to run the lives of man, he didn’t read Spinoza Mesrine, he wasn’t given the time to, because the State sent him off to war to learn the rudiments of his trade as a killer, the politicians, the decision-makers, the bosses, the men of the welfare-state, the fathers, the upholders of the republic and the guards of the good running of things, of the good square march, and who have most probably read the Ethics at least a few of them, they made sure he didn’t read Mesrine, if he had read the Ethics, if he had had the time and placed the Ethics at his feet in his car, instead of grenades, the day of his shooting, then we would have seen the faces of the cops, their discomfitted faces at the sight of the Ethics, the distraught faces of the Bushmen, the inside-out faces of the city Sergeants as would have said Jarry, from understanding that Mesrine was armed with nothing but the Ethics, Mesrine if he had read the Ethics, he could have seen for example that there are people inside, in the Ethics, who have bad luck, yes, even in Spinoza people have bad luck, and God is blamed or praised, God all mighty, God who placed a stroke of bad luck, and God who made him fall, God who made some fellow invite another, another fellow who walked across to see the first fellow, God who brought his own fellow along, God who placed  the poor fellow under a stroke of bad luck, whereas Spinoza explains that bad luck is not divine, bad luck is a fact of life, and life carries on, and people have strokes of bad luck, and that’s how it is.