I Have Written Only What

Human Groupings Have One Main Purpose: To Assert Everyone’s Right To Be Different, To Be Special, To Think, Feel And Live In His Or Her Own Way. People Join Together In Order To Win Or Defend This Right. But This Is Where A Terrible, Fateful Error Is Born: The Belief That These Groupings In The Name Of A Race, A God, A Party Or A State Are The Very Purpose Of Life And Not Simply A Means To An End. No! The Only True And Lasting Meaning Of The Struggle For Life Lies In The Individual, In His Modest Peculiarities And In His Right To These Peculiarities.

He Was Endowed With The Extraordinary Powers Of Endurance Characteristic Of Madmen And Simpletons.

There Was Something Terrible, But Also Something Sad And Melancholy In This Long Cry Uttered By The Russian Infantry As They Staged An Attack. As It Crossed The Cold Water, It Lost Its Fervour. Instead Of Valour Or Gallantry, You Could Hear The Sadness Of A Soul Parting With Everything That It Loved, Calling On Its Nearest And Dearest To Wake Up, To Lift Their Head From Their Pillows And Hear For The Last Time The Voice Of A Father, A Husband, A Son Or A Brother...

The Sea Was Not Freedom; It Was A Likeness Of Freedom, A Symbol Of Freedom...how Splendid Freedom Must Be If A Mere Likeness Of It, A Mere Reminder Of It, Is Enough To Fill A Man With Happiness.

At War A Russian Man Puts On A White Shirt. He May Live In Sin, But He Dies Like A Saint.