We Should Be Willing To Act As

All Disasters Stem From Us. Why Is There A War? Perhaps Because Now And Then I Might Be Inclined To Snap At My Neighbour. Because I And My Neighbour And Everyone Else Do Not Have Enough Love. Yet We Could Fight War And All Its Excrescences By Releasing Each Day, The Love Which Is Shackled Inside Us, And Giving It A Chance To Live.

We Human Beings Cause Monstrous Conditions, But Precisely Because We Cause Them We Soon Learn To Adapt Ourselves To Them. Only If We Become Such That We Can No Longer Adapt Ourselves, Only If, Deep Inside, We Rebel Against Every Kind Of Evil, Will We Be Able To Put A Stop To It. ... While Everything Within Us Does Not Yet Scream Out In Protest, So Long Will We Find Ways Of Adapting Ourselves, And The Horrors Will Continue.

Slowly But Surely I Have Been Soaking Rilke Up These Last Few Months: The Man, His Work And His Life. And That Is Probably The Only Right Way With Literature, With Study, With People Or With Anything Else: To Let It All Soak In, To Let It All Mature Slowly Inside You Until It Has Become A Part Of Yourself. That, Too, Is A Growing Process. Everything Is A Growing Process. And In Between, Emotions And Sensations That Strike You Like Lightning. But Still The Most Important Thing Is The Organic Process Of Growing.

We Have To Fight Them Daily, Like Fleas, Those Many Small Worries About The Morrow, For They Sap Our Energies. We Make Mental Provisions For The Days To Come, And Everything Turns Out Differently, Quite Differently. Sufficient Unto The Day. The Things That Have To Be Done Must Be Done, And For The Rest We Must Not Allow Ourselves To Become Infested With Thousands Of Petty Fears And Worries.

Suffering Has Always Been With Us; Does It Really Matter In What Form It Comes? All That Matters Is How We Bear It And How We Fit It Into Our Lives.