Everybody Is Somebody's Jew.

There Is Auschwitz, And So There Cannot Be God.

I'm A Libertine, But It's Not My Specialty.

Auschwitz Is Outside Of Us, But It Is All Around Us, In The Air. The Plague Has Died Away, But The Infection Still Lingers And It Would Be Foolish To Deny It. Rejection Of Human Solidarity, Obtuse And Cynical Indifference To The Suffering Of Others, Abdication Of The Intellect And Of Moral Sense To The Principle Of Authority, And Above All, At The Root Of Everything, A Sweeping Tide Of Cowardice, A Colossal Cowardice Which Masks Itself As Warring Virtue, Love Of Country And Faith In An Idea.

The Butterfly's Attractiveness Derives Not Only From Colors And Symmetry: Deeper Motives Contribute To It. We Would Not Think Them So Beautiful If They Did Not Fly, Or If They Flew Straight And Briskly Like Bees, Or If They Stung, Or Above All If They Did Not Enact The Perturbing Mystery Of Metamorphosis: The Latter Assumes In Our Eyes The Value Of A Badly Decoded Message, A Symbol, A Sign.

To Destroy A Man Is Difficult, Almost As Difficult As To Create One: It Has Not Been Easy, Nor Quick, But You Germans Have Succeeded. Here We Are, Docile Under Your Gaze; From Our Side You Have Nothing More To Fear; No Acts Of Violence, No Words Of Defiance, Not Even A Look Of Judgment.