With Blinded Eyes I Stared At The

I Want That Quiet Rapture Again. I Want To Feel The Same Powerful, Nameless Urge That I Used To Feel When I Turned To My Books. The Breath Of Desire That Then Arose From The Coloured Backs Of The Books, Shall Fill Me Again, Melt The Heavy, Dead Lump Of Lead That Lies Somewhere In Me And Waken Again The Impatience Of The Future, The Quick Joy In The World Of Thought, It Shall Bring Back Again The Lost Eagerness Of My Youth. I Sit And Wait.

How Senseless Is Everything That Can Ever Be Written, Done, Or Thought, When Such Things Are Possible. It Must Be All Lies And Of No Account When The Culture Of A Thousand Years Could Not Prevent This Stream Of Blood Being Poured Out, These Torture-chambers In Their Hundreds Of Thousands. A Hospital Alone Shows What War Is.

Nothing Is The Mirror In Which You See The World.

Heaven Has No Favorites

All Quiet On The Western Front.