I think the demon’s target is not the possessed; it is us … the observers … every person in this house. And I think the point is to make us despair; to reject our own humanity … to see ourselves as ultimately bestial … without dignity; ugly; unworthy. And there lies the heart of it perhaps …

For I think belief in God is not a matter of reason at all; I think it is finally a matter of love; of accepting the possibility that God could love us. He knows … the demon knows where to strike … Long ago I despaired of ever loving my neighbor. Certain people … repelled me. How could I love them? I thought. It tormented me …

How many husbands and wives must believe they have fallen out of love because their hearts no longer race at the sight of their beloveds? Ah, dear God! There it lies, I think, Damien … possession; not in wars, as some tend to believe; not so much; and very seldom in extraordinary interventions … such as here … this girl … this poor child. No, I see it most often in the little things Damien: in the senseless petty spites; the misunderstandings; the cruel and cutting word that leaps unbidden to the tongue between friends. Between lovers. Enough of these.