An Enemy Who Sees The Error Of

If It Is True That There Is No Greater Sorrow Than To Remember A Happy Time In A State Of Misery, It Is Just As True That Calling Up A Moment Of Anguish In A Tranquil Mood, Seated Quietly At One's Desk, Is A Source Of Profound Satisfaction.

The Trade Of Chemist (fortified, In My Case, By The Experience Of Auschwitz), Teaches You To Overcome, Indeed To Ignore, Certain Revulsions That Are Neither Necessary Or Congenital: Matter Is Matter, Neither Noble Nor Vile, Infinitely Transformable, And Its Proximate Origin Is Of No Importance Whatsoever. Nitrogen Is Nitrogen, It Passes Miraculously From The Air Into Plants, From These Into Animals, And From Animals Into Us; When Its Function In Our Body Is Exhausted, We Eliminate It, But It Still Remains Nitrogen, Aseptic, Innocent.

To Give A Name To A Thing Is As Gratifying As Giving A Name To An Island, But It Is Also Dangerous: The Danger Consists In One's Becoming Convinced That All Is Taken Care Of And That Once Named, The Phenomenon Has Also Been Explained.

We Collected In A Group In Front Of Their Door, And We Experienced Within Ourselves A Grief That Was New For Us, The Ancient Grief Of The People That Has No Land, The Grief Without Hope Of The Exodus Which Is Renewed In Every Century.

At That Time I Had Not Yet Been Taught The Doctrine I Was Later To Learn So Hurriedly In The Lager: That Man Is Bound To Pursue His Own Ends By All Possible Means, While He Who Errs But Once Pays Dearly