Yet What Is To Be Done With

Ordinary Facts Are Arranged Within Time, Strung Along Its Length As On A Thread. There They Have Their Antecedents And Their Consequences, Which Crowd Tightly Together And Press Hard One Upon The Other Without Any Pause. This Has Its Importance For Any Narrative, Of Which Continuity And Successiveness Are The Soul.

Reality Is As Thin As Paper And Betrays With All Its Cracks Its Imitative Character.

How Can One Not Succumb And Allow One's Courage To Fail When Everything Is Shut Tight, When All Meaningful Things Are Walled Up, And When You Constantly Knock Against Bricks, As Against The Walls Of A Prison?

This Enraged The Other Nazi So Much That The Next Morning He Came To Our House And He Shot My Father.

My Ideal Goal Is To "mature" Into Childhood. That Would Be Genuine Maturity.