His nostalgic memory glorified them and they assumed a strange character.
Their world and their existence seemed very distant and the spirit reached out for them longingly:
In my mind I took bus rides, unlocked the front door of my apartment, answered my telephone, switched on the electric lights.
Our thoughts often centered on such details, and these memories could move one to tears.
As the inner life of the prisoner tended to become more intense, he also experienced the beauty of art and nature as never before.
Under their influence he sometimes even forgot his own frightful circumstances.
If someone had seen our faces on the journey from Auschwitz to a Bavarian camp
as we beheld the mountains of Salzburg with their summits glowing in the sunset,
through the little barred windows of the prison carriage,
he would never have believed that those were the faces of men who had given up all hope of life and liberty.
Despite that factor—or maybe because of it—we were carried away by nature’s beauty, which we had missed for so long.
In camp, too, a man might draw the attention of a comrade working next to him
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