Sacrifice May Be A Flower That Virtue

I Knew That If I Was Captured By The Germans I Would Be Shot At Once, Since I Have Always Been Counted As An Enemy Of Germany Because Of My Play, 'le Bourgmestre De Stillemonde,' Which Dealt With The Conditions In Belgium During The German Occupation Of 1918.

As Soon As We Put Something Into Words, We Devalue It In A Strange Way. We Think We Have Plunged Into The Depths Of The Abyss, And When We Return To The Surface The Drop Of Water On Our Pale Fingertips No Longer Resembles The Sea From Which It Comes. We Delude Ourselves That We Have Discovered A Wonderful Treasure Trove, And When We Return To The Light Of Day We Find That We Have Brought Back Only False Stones And Shards Of Glass; And Yet The Treasure Goes On Glimmering In The Dark, Unaltered.

We Possess Only The Happiness We Able To Understand.

Remember That Happiness Is As Contagious As Gloom. It Should Be The First Duty Of Those Who Are Happy To Let Others Know Of Their Gladness.

Once At A Potent Leader's Voice I Stayed; Once I Went Back When A Good Monarch Prayed; Mortals, Howe'er We Grieve, Howe'er Deplore, The Flying Shadow Will Return No More.