War Is Like Love, It Always Finds

When Crimes Begin To Pile Up They Become Invisible. When Sufferings Become Unendurable The Cries Are No Longer Heard. The Cries, Too, Fall Like Rain In Summer.

If Art Reflects Life, It Does So With Special Mirrors.

Something Ignoble, Loathsome, Undignified Attends All Associations Between People And Has Been Transferred To All Objects, Dwelling, Tools, Even The Landscape Itself.

All The Gang Of Those Who Rule Us Hope Our Quarrels Never Stop Helping Them To Split And Fool Us So They Can Remain On Top.

Those Who Have Had No Share In The Good Fortunes Of The Mighty Often Have A Share In Their Misfortunes.