Character: Ludwig Bodmer (Rudolf). Page 1

A strange contrast - the gray, almost anonymous mass of victims of the war in silence dragged across the street, and barely crawling behind the car of those who got rich during the war. They grumble, shudder, snort, moving impatiently on the heels of the widows of the slain, which, together with the children complete the March, hungry, emaciated, impoverished, frightened. And cars are a riot of dazzling luxurious summer toilets - linen and silk those who collapsed on the seats, full cheeks, rounded shoulders and face, embarrassed because I had to get into such an unpleasant situation. Pedestrians on the sidewalks easier: they just look away and hurry children, who continually stopped and asked to explain. What is the disabled.

We forget that we live on this planet only a short period of time. And therefore suffer absolutely about the complex world of grief. If we are going to live forever.

... it is impossible to merge to unity and have to leave every day and every hour. You know it and you still can't keep love, it spreads out between the fingers, but she is the most precious thing in the world, and yet not hold it. Always one of the two dies before the other. Always one of the two remains.

Our problem is that there is in us neither really stupid nor true intelligence. And always is the middle, at the half, they sit like monkeys, between the two branches. This tired and sometimes feel sad. People should know where his place is.

The bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. This miracle is the same as the creation of man arising from mud and dust. According to Rosenfeld, the third miracle is that people do not know how to be with the second, and all ruthlessly exploits and destroys his own kind, and the short period between birth and death is trying to fill with selfishness, although everyone from the beginning is absolutely one thing is clear: he must inevitably die.

- Left, but not left.

I told myself that I will, but I suddenly found that time anymore.

- You've changed, I say.
- Oh, you fool, I just decided.

- Oh, Rudolph! You hear so little! she says with gentle reproach. Exactly your ears are overgrown with thick bushes. And then all this noise is because I don't hear nothing.
- I make noise? How?
- Not words. But in General, you're awfully noisy, Rudolph. Sometimes your company is difficult to bear. You're more noisy than hydrangeas when they are thirsty, but these plants are krikuni.
- In what way am I noisy?
- All. Your desires. Your discontent. Your vanity. Your indecision...

She shivers, looks at me and cuddles up to me, and I hug her, we hug each other - two strangers who know nothing about each other and embraced because they do not understand each other, and one sees in the other not for who he really is; and yet they derive consolation even from this misunderstanding, double, triple, endless; and yet this is the only that, like the rainbow, seems to be a bridge there where no bridge can not be where there is only a reflection of each other two mirrors, repetitive and going in the emptiness all the more backing given.

I again feel in which alone she lives, fearlessly, face to face with the threatening ghosts, the power of which it is given, without shelter, without rest and calm, windswept soul, without support, without complaint and without the self-pity. You are sweet and fearless, you are my favorite, I think, as an arrow, consistently and directly fixed to the bottom of things, you may not be able to reach her, even if mistaken. But who does not err? And is almost all we have not renounced any search? Where does delusion, stupidity, cowardice and where the wisdom, of the highest courage?

There are many degrees of abandonment and loneliness - and every painful, and many of them equal death.

Tolerance, I say. - Respect for the other. Understanding the other. Let everyone lives in their own way. But tolerance in our beloved Fatherland sounds like a word in a foreign language.

Henry Kroll belongs to that breed of people who never doubt the rightness of their views - this makes them not only boring, but dangerous. Among them is the brazen-faced mass in our beloved Fatherland, which again and again drive to war.