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For The Ones Who Shall Know Me...
You have no idea who i am....
I read this book called DAY, the sequel to the book NIGHT
It is by far one of the best books i ever read. Author: Elie Weisel, a jewish survivor of the Holocaust. He stated some quotes that got me into my THINKING PHASE. Really interesting.

"Man's heart is a ditch full of blood. The loved ones who have died throw themselves down on the bank of this ditch to drink the blood and so come to life again; the derer they are to you, the more of your blood they drink." -NIKOS KAZANTZAKIS, Zorba the Greek

"-And you? How do you look at me?''
She liked to relate everything to us. We were always the center of her universe. For her, other mortals lived to only to be used as comparisons.
"I? I don't look at you," I answered, slightly annoyed. There was a silence. I was biting my tongue. "But I love you. You know that."
"You love me but you don't look at me?" she asked gloomily.
"Thanks for the compliment."
"You don't understand," i went right on. "One doesn't necessarily exclude the other. You can love God, but you can't look at him."
- Day

"Where would you like to go?" Kathleen inquired.
She pretended to not have noticed how pale i was. Who knows, i thought. She too perhaps, will learn how to lie.
"Far," I answered. "Very far."
"I'll go with you," she declared.
The sadness and bitterness of her voice filled me with pity. Kathleen has changed, i told myself. She, who believed in defiance, in fighting, in hatred, had now chosen to submit. She, who refused to follow any call that didn't come from herself, now recognized defeat. I knew that our suffering changes us. but i didn't know that it could also destroy others.
"Of course," I said. "I won't go without you."
I was thinking: to go far away, where the roads leading to simplicity are not known merely to a select group, but to all; where love, laughter, songs, and prayers carry with them neither anguish nor shame; where i can think about myself without anguish, without contempt; where the wine, Kathleen, is pure and not mixed with the spit of corpses; where the dead live in cemeteries and not in the hearts of men.

Kathleen tried not to cry
"What can be done, Doctor?"
"Is that serious?"
"Very serious."
The young doctor, whose voice was as restrained as an old man's, looked at her for a moment, then asked, "Who are you? His wife?"
On the verge of hysteria, Kathleen just shook her head to say no.
"His fiancee?"
"No," she whispered.
"His girlfriend?"
After hesitating a moment, he had asked her softly, "Do you love him?"
"Yes," Kathleen whispered.
"In that case there are good reasons to not to lose hope. Love is worth as much as a prayer, sometimes more."
Then Kathleen burst into tears.


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