A Love Thought: I Love

The Whole Problem Of Life, Then, Is This: How To Break Out Of One's Own Loneliness, How To Communicate With Others.

It's Pointless To Cry. One Is Born And Dies Alone.

We Like To Have Work To Do, So As To Have The Right To Rest.

Now That I've Seen What War Is, What Civil War Is, I Know That Everybody, If One Day It Should End, Ought To Ask Himself: "and What Shall We Make Of The Fallen? Why Are They Dead?" I Wouldn't Know What To Say. Not Now, At Any Rate. Nor Does It Seem To Me That The Others Know. Perhaps Only Dead Know, And Only For Them Is The War Really Over.

A Man Succeeds In Completing A Work Only When His Qualities Transcend That Work.