The Act The Act Must Not Be

Work Alone Isn't Enough For Me And Mine; We Know How To Break Our Backs, But The Great Dream Of My Fathers Was To Be Good At Doing Nothing.

The Whole Problem Of Life, Then, Is This: How To Break Out Of One's Own Loneliness, How To Communicate With Others.

Now That I've Seen What War Is, What Civil War Is, I Know That Everybody, If One Day It Should End, Ought To Ask Himself: "and What Shall We Make Of The Fallen? Why Are They Dead?" I Wouldn't Know What To Say. Not Now, At Any Rate. Nor Does It Seem To Me That The Others Know. Perhaps Only Dead Know, And Only For Them Is The War Really Over.

You Need A Village, If Only For The Pleasure Of Leaving It. A Village Means That You Are Not Alone, Knowing That In The People, The Trees, The Earth, There Is Something That Belongs To You, Waiting For You When You Are Not There.

Why So Much Innuendo, Draped Like Ivy To Hide A Cesspool, When Everyone Knew The Cesspool Was There?