Book: The Warsaw diaries. Page 1

With public stigma, we had to stand out from the crowd as "intended for slaughter".

That year autumn was delayed, but by the end of November the sun began to peek out less often, charged cold torrential rains - one of these days death took place very close to us.

All her figure, the way she was leaning against the wall, gave it a woman from the upper strata of society, which only war could force to earn a living this way.

He spent hours playing the violin, finding in it a refuge from reality.
(...)
"It means nothing! Anyway, at the latest within a month there will already be allies!" This unchanging answer to all the questions then helped father to escape from reality in the ethereal world of music, where he was best.

But nothing could stir up our shamefully lurking in the subconscious, almost animal joy that we are alive and already out of danger. In this new reality, a month ago, which is a stable value, lost value. And the fact that this didn't deserve any attention, took a new, uncharacteristic important place: beautiful and comfortable chair, a comfortable, lined with white-tiled stove invites to stop your mind, the creaking of the floor coming from the apartment above us, signs of normal life, of home.