Warfare Against Civilians Must Never

I'm A Fairly Ascetic Person. And I Do Most Of My Writing At Night. You Don't Get Distracted, Your Brain Goes Into What You Are Writing About, Into The World You're Writing About, Rather Than Into The World You're In.

So If It Seems That Some Of What I'll Have To Say In The Pages To Come Doesn't Reflect The Mellowing Of Age, That's Only Because I've Never Found That Life And Memories Respond To Time The Way That Tobacco Does.

Imagine, [kriezler] Said, That You Enter A Large, Somewhat Crumbling Hall That Echoes With The Sounds Of People Mumbling And Talking Repetitively To Themselves. All Around You These People Fall Into Prostrate Positions, Some Of Them Weeping. Where Are You? Sara’s Answer Was Immediate: In An Asylum. Perhaps, Kreizler Answered, But You Could Also Be In A Church. In The One Place The Behavior Would Be Considered Mad; In The Other, Not Only Sane, But As Respectable As Any Human Activity Can Be.

I Have A Grim Outlook On The World, And In Particular On Humanity. Spent Years Denying It, But I Am Very Misanthropic. And I Live Alone On A Mountain For A Reason.

It Didn’t Make Any More Sense To Me Then Than It Does Now, How Life Can Pile Troubles Up On A Man What Don’t Deserve Them, While Letting Some Of The Biggest Jackasses And Scoundrels Alive Waltz Their Way Through Long, Untroubled Existences.