our art is impotent
The night, which had terrified us at first, seemed almost
pleasant by comparison. In the end we longed for the night and
waited for it. It was harder for them to shoot at us then
than in the daytime. That was the only difference that counted.
It’s hard to face the facts, even in connection with war
the imagination holds its own for a long time.
- from “Journey to the End of the Night” by Celine