There Is Mercy For Everyone, Except Those

When Writing Poetry, It Is Not That Produces A Bright Idea, But The Bright Idea That Kindles The Fire Of.

There Is Mercy For Everyone, Except Those Who Are Bored With Life.

We Obtain Things When We No Longer Want Them.

From Someone Who Doesn't Want To Share Your Destiny, You Should Neither Accept A Cigarette

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.