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.

Why is it that nobody cries out, nobody spits in their faces, nobody jumps at their throats? We doff our caps to the S.S. men returning from the little wood; if our name is called out we obediently go with them to die, and we do nothing. We starve, we are drenched by rain, we are torn from our families. What is this mystery? This strange power of one man over another? This insane passivity that cannot be overcome? Our only strength is our great number; the gas chambers cannot accommodate all of us.

What a curious power words have.

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.

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.

I smile and I think that one human being must always be discovering another - through love. And that this is the most important thing on earth, and the most lasting.

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.