We Have Our Dreams Because Without Them

A Man Can Gasp Out His Life Beside You-and You Feel None Of It. Pity, Sympathy, Sure-but You Don't Feel The Pain. Your Belly Is Whole And That's What Counts. A Half-yard Away Someone's World Is Snuffled Out In Roaring Agony-and You Feel Nothing. That's The Misery Of The World.

I Am Young, I Am Twenty Years Old; Yet I Know Nothing Of Life But Despair, Death, Fear, And Fatuous Superficiality Cast Over An Abyss Of Sorrow. I See How Peoples Are Set Against One Another, And In Silence, Unknowingly, Foolishly, Obediently, Innocently Slay One Another.

The Music Enchanted The Air. It Was Like The South Wind, Like A Warm Night, Like Swelling Sails Beneath The Stars, Completely And Utterly Unreal... It Made Everything Spacious And Colourful, The Dark Stream Of Life Seemed Pulsing In It; There Were No Burdens Any More, No Limits; There Existed Only Glory And Melody And Love, So That One Simply Could Not Realize That, At The Same Time As This Music Was, Outside There Ruled Poverty And Torment And Despair.

I Am Often On Guard Over The Russians. In The Darkness One Sees Their Forms Move Like Stick Storks, Like Great Birds. They Come Close Up To The Wire Fence And Lean Their Faces Against It. Their Fingers Hook Round The Mesh.

Good Or Ill, Life Is Life; You Only Realize That When You Have To Risk It.