No Compass Has Ever Been

That Was Only The Beginning - Where One Burns Books, One Will Finally Also Burn People.

This Was But A Prelude; Where Books Are Burnt Human-beings Will Be Burnt In The End

It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

A Pine Tree Standeth Lonely In The North On An Upland Bare; It Standeth Whitely Shrouded With Snow, And Sleepeth There. It Dreameth Of A Palm Tree Which Far In The East Alone, In The Mournful Silence Standeth On Its Ridge Of Burning Stone.

Out Of My Own Great Woe I Make My Little Songs.