As in everything else, I find that age is not good for much, that one becomes deafer and less sensitive. Also, the higher up the mountain you climb, the less of a view you get. A mist closes in and cheats you of the hoped-for and expected opportunity to see far and wide.

Pacifism simply is not a matter of calm looking on; it is work, hard work.

It is my duty to voice the sufferings of humankind, the never-ending sufferings heaped mountain high. This is my task, but it is not an easy one to fulfill.

It seems to me nowadays that the most important task for someone who is aging is to spread love and warmth whenever possible.

Recently I began reading my old diaries. Back to before the war. Gradually I became very depressed. The reason for that is probably that I wrote only when there were obstacles and halts to the flow of life, seldom when everything was smooth and even. ... As I read I distinctly felt what a half-truth a diary presents.

I thought I was a revolutionary and was only an evolutionary.

To this day I do not know whether the power which has inspired my works is something related to religion, or is indeed religion itself.