The pain is not a privilege, a sign of nobility, a reminder of God's pain is something bestial and ferocious, potty and free, natural as air. It is intangible, it escapes every outlet and every fight, he lives in time, is the same as the time and if he gasps and cries of, only to leave them better helpless sufferers, in the moments that follow, in the long moments where you savor the agony the past and expects the next. These jerks are not the pain itself, are moments of vitality invented by the nerves to feel the real pain duration, duration tedious, exasperating, time-of endless pain. Those suffering is always in a state of waiting - waiting and waiting for the leap forward on the path. There comes a time that cries unnecessarily just to break the current time, but feel that something happens, that brutal pain of eternal life is a moment stopped-even to intensify. Sometimes one suspects that the death - hell-still consist of the flow of a pain without surprises, no voice, no seconds, all of the time and all eternity, unending as the flow of blood in a body that will never die again.
September-October 1944
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