But Now Isn’t Simply Now. Now Is

The Nazis Hated Culture Itself, Because It Is Essentially International And Therefore Subversive Of Nationalism. What They Called Nazi Culture Was A Local, Perverted, Nationalistic Cult, By Which A Few Major Artists And Many Minor Ones Were Honored For Their Germanness, Not Their Talent.

We Must Remember That Nothing In This World Really Belongs To Us. At Best, We Are Merely Borrowers.

George Smiles To Himself, With Entire Self-satisfaction. Yes, I Am Crazy, He Thinks. That Is My Secret; My Strength.

But Now Isn’t Simply Now. Now Is Also A Cold Reminder: One Whole Day Later Than Yesterday, One Year Later Than Last Year. Every Now Is Labeled With Its Date, Rendering All Past Nows Obsolete, Until — Later Of Sooner — Perhaps — No, Not Perhaps — Quite Certainly: It Will Come.

Berlin Is A Skeleton Which Aches In The Cold: It Is My Own Skeleton Aching. I Feel In My Bones The Sharp Ache Of The Frost In The Girders Of The Overhead Railway, In The Iron-work Of Balconies, In Bridges, Tramlines, Lamp-standards, Latrines. The Iron Throbs And Shrinks, The Stone And The Bricks Ache Dully, The Plaster Is Numb.