“Yes, even in your mouse moods you only play with the idea of not being.” She cleared her throat again. “Biology, you see. It’s because of biology that we come to a time when we want to die and not to live.”
“The familiar hated affliction--feeling awkward, foolish, inept, embarrassed-- surged through him, but for once he did not care and paid it no attention. The mouse dream fitted through his mind. Then he thought of Anne Frank and of his visit to her house--no, not her house, her museum--that morning. And now this and these tears. All somehow connected.”
“Never had I uttered such a speech before. Never had I thought myself capable of it. Never have I made such a speech again. Because, perhaps, never did such anger seize me as possessed me that day. Upstairs in the ruins of my home foreign soldiers were fighting for my country. Here in the cellar I was fighting for myself.”
“Think, my dear. We owe it to these people. They’ve come to help us. We must do what we can to help them. And think of our daughter. Isn’t it natural she wants to play her part? When this horror is over, what would you have her say, that she had to stand by and watch while others took all the risks?”