I'm Afraid I Did Not Pray Hard

To Live Fully, Outwardly And Inwardly, Not To Ignore The External Reality For The Sake Of The Inner Life, Or The Reverse, That's Quite A Task

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.

A Large Group Of Us Were Crowded Into The Gestapo Hall, And At That Moment The Circumstances Of All Our Lives Were The Same. All Of Us Occupied The Same Space, The Men Behind The Desk No Less Than Those About To Be Questioned. What Distinguished Each Of Us Was Only Our Inner Attitude.

Before, I Always Lived In Anticipation . . . That It Was All A Preparation For Something Else, Something "greater," More "genuine." But That Feeling Has Dropped Away From Me Completely. I Live Here And Now, This Minute, This Day, To The Full, And The Life Is Worth Living.

Every Word Born Of An Inner Necessity - Writing Must Never Be Anything Else.