Defeat Is A Thing Of Weariness, Of

It Is Not For Us To Forecast The Future, But To Shape It.

What Torments Me Is Not The Humps Nor Hollows Nor The Ugliness. It Is The Sight, A Little Bit In All These Men, Of Mozart Murdered.

One Cannot Build Life From Refrigerators, Politics, Credit Statements And Crossword Puzzles. That Is Impossible. Nor Can One Exist For Any Length Of Time Without Poetry, Without Color, Without Love.

I Have Lived A Great Deal Among Grown-ups. I Have Seen Them Intimately, Close At Hand. And That Hasn’t Much Improved My Opinion Of Them.

The Soldier's Body Becomes A Stock Of Accessories That Are Not His Property.