I Have Often Supported Israel, I Have

I Expected More From Literature Than From Real, Naked Life.

What Makes Books - And With Them Writers - So Dangerous That Church And State, Politburos And The Mass Media Feel The Need To Oppose Them?

What Does A River Like The Vistula Carry Away With It? Everything That Goes To Pieces: Wood, Glass, Pencils, Pacts ... Chairs, Bones, And Sunsets Too. What Had Long Been Forgotten Rose To Memory, Floating On Its Back Or Stomach, With The Help Of The Vistula.

Where Man Had Been, In Every Place He Left, Garbage Remained. Even In His Pursuit Of The Ultimate Truth And Quest For His God, He Produced Garbage. By His Garbage, Which Lay Stratum Upon Stratum, He Could Always - One Had Only To Dig - Be Known. For More Long-lived Than Man Is His Refuse. Garbage Alone Lives After Him.

Today I Know That All Things Are Watching, That Nothing Goes Unseen, That Even Wallpaper Has A Better Memory Than Human Beings.