Lifelessness Is Only A Disguise Behind Which

Ordinary Facts Are Arranged Within Time, Strung Along Its Length As On A Thread. There They Have Their Antecedents And Their Consequences, Which Crowd Tightly Together And Press Hard One Upon The Other Without Any Pause. This Has Its Importance For Any Narrative, Of Which Continuity And Successiveness Are The Soul.

Under The Imaginary Table That Separates Me From My Readers, Don’t We Secretly Clasp Each Other’s Hands?

And One's Wandering Proved As Sterile And Pointless As The Excitement Produced By A Close Study Of Pornographic Albums.

In Our Town There Was A Gestapo Officer Who Loved To Play Chess. After The Occupation Began, He Found Out That My Father Was The Chess Master Of The Region, And So He Had Him To His House Every Night.

The Days Hardened With Cold And Boredom Like Last Year's Loaves Of Bread. One Began To Cut Them With Blunt Knives Without Appetite, With A Lazy Indifference.