There's No Need To Talk About It,

So I Was Still Guilty. And If I Was Not Guilty Because One Cannot Be Guilty Of Betraying A Criminal, Then I Was Guilty Of Having Loved A Criminal.

Bravery Is Good When The Cause Is Good.

I Took All The Blame. I Admitted Mistakes I Hadn't Made, Intentions I'd Never Had. Whenever She Turned Cold And Hard, I Begged Her To Be Good To Me Again, To Forgive Me And Love Me. Sometimes I Had The Feeling That She Hurt Herself When She Turned Cold And Rigid. As If What She Was Yearning For Was The Warmth Of My Apologies, Protestations, And Entreaties. Sometimes I Thought She Just Bullied Me. But Either Way, I Had No Choice.

What Should Our Second Generation Have Done, What Should It Do With The Knowledge Of The Horrors Of The Extermination Of The Jews? We Should Not Believe We Can Comprehend The Incomprehensible, We May Not Compare The Incomparable, We May Not Inquire Because To Inquire Is To Make The Horrors An Object Of Discussion, Even If The Horrors Themselves Are Not Questioned, Instead Of Accepting Them As Something In The Face Of Which We Can Only Fall Silent In Revulsion, Shame And Guilt. Should We Only Fall Silent In Revulsion, Shame And Guilt? To What Purpose?

But Then She Was Not Awkward, She Was Slow-flowing, Graceful, Seductive - A Seductiveness That Had Nothing To Do With Breast And Hips And Legs, But Was An Invitation To Forget The World In The Recesses Of The Body