Here I am at the parting of the ways and I must take the other road after all. The death sentence has been passed and the atmosphere is so charged with enmity and hatred that no appeal has any hope of succeeding. So the whole proceedings turned into a sort of comedy developing a theme. It was not justiceit was simply the carrying out of determination to destroy. Towards noon I will celebrate Mass once more and then in Gods name take the road under his providence and guidance.

Letter to the Brethren, Jan. 11, 1945

It has become an odd sort of life I am leading. It is so easy to get used to existence again that one has to keep reminding oneself that death is round the corner. Condemned to death. The thought refuses to penetrate; it almost needs force to drive it home. The thing that makes this kind of death so singular is that one feels so vibrantly alive with the will to live unbroken and every nerve tingling with life. A malevolent external force is the only thing that can end it. The usual intimations of approaching death are therefore lacking. One of these days the door will open, the jailer will say, Pack up. The car will be here in half an hour. We have often heard this and know exactly what it is like.

To his friend M., after Jan. 11, 1945.

This article appears in January 21 2008.