It is the camp law: people going to their death must be deceived to the very end. This is the only permissible form of charity.

Between two throw-ins in a soccer game, right behind my back, three thousand people had been put to death.

A man has only a limited number of ways in which he can express strong emotions or violent passions. He uses the same gestures as when what he feels is only petty and unimportant. He utters the same ordinary words.

The world is ruled by power and power is obtained by money.

It is the camp law: people going to their death must be deceived to the very end. This is the only permissible form of charity.

And I think about my cell at the Pawiak prison. During the first week I felt I would not be able to endure a day without a book, without the circle of light under the parafin lamp in the evening, without a sheet of paper, without you. . . .

There can be no beauty if it is paid for by human injustice, nor truth that passes over injustice in silence, nor moral virtue that condones it.