Time, That Most Abstract Of Humanity's Homes.

One Has The Impression That Something Is Stirring Inside [photographs] - It Is As If One Can Hear Little Cries Of Despair, Gémissements De Désespoir... As If The Photographs Themselves Had A Memory And Were Remembering Us And How We, The Surviving, And Those Who Preceded Us, Once Were.

As Far As I Know, The Question Of Whether And How It Could Be Strategically Or Morally Justified Was Never The Subject Of Open Debate In Germany After 1945, No Doubt Mainly Because A Nation Which Had Murdered And Worked To Death Millions Of People In Its Camps Could Hardly Call On The Victorious Powers To Explain The Military And Political Logic That Dictated The Destruction Of The German Cities.

I Have Always Kept Ducks, Even As A Child, And The Colours Of Their Plumage, In Particular The Dark Green And Snow White, Seemed To Me The Only Possible Answer To The Questions That Are On My Mind.

There Is Something Peculiarly Dispriting About The Emptiness That Wells Up When, In A Strange City, One Dials The Same Telephone Numbers In Vain.

The Noonday Demon Explores The Subterranean Realms Of An Illness Which Is On The Point Of Becoming Endemic, And Which More Than Anything Else Mirrors The Present State Of Our Civilization And Its Profound Discontents. As Wide-ranging As It Is Incisive, This Astonishing Work Is A Testimony Both To The Muted Suffering Of Millions And To The Great Courage It Must Have Taken The Author To Set His Mind Against It.