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This Cell Belongs To A Brain, And It Is My Brain, The Brain Of Me Who Is Writing; And The Cell In Question, And Within It The Atom In Question, Is In Charge Of My Writing, In A Gigantic Minuscule Game Which Nobody Has Yet Described. It Is That Which At This Instant, Issuing Out Of A Labyrinthine Tangle Of Yeses And Nos, Makes My Hand Run Along A Certain Path On The Paper, Mark It With These Volutes That Are Signs: A Double Snap, Up And Down, Between Two Levels Of Energy, Guides This Hand Of Mine To Impress On The Paper This Dot, Here, This One.

-Primo Levi

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This Cell Belongs To

Primo Levi

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This Cell Belongs To A Brain, And It Is My Brain, The Brain Of Me Who Is Writing; And The Cell In Question, And Within It The Atom In Question, Is In Charge Of My Writing, In A Gigantic Minuscule Game Which Nobody Has Yet Described. It Is That Which At This Instant, Issuing Out Of A Labyrinthine Tangle Of Yeses And Nos, Makes My Hand Run Along A Certain Path On The Paper, Mark It With These Volutes That Are Signs: A Double Snap, Up And Down, Between Two Levels Of Energy, Guides This Hand Of Mine To Impress On The Paper This Dot, Here, This One.

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Nothing Can Be Said: Nothing Sure, Nothing Probable, Nothing Honest. Better To Err Through Omission Than Through Commission: Better To Refrain From Steering The Fate Of Others, Since It Is Already So Difficult To Navigate One's Own.

We Who Survived The Camps Are Not True Witnesses. We Are Those Who, Through Prevarication, Skill Or Luck, Never Touched Bottom. Those Who Have, And Who Have Seen The Face Of The Gorgon, Did Not Return, Or Returned Wordless.

This Cell Belongs To A Brain, And It Is My Brain, The Brain Of Me Who Is Writing; And The Cell In Question, And Within It The Atom In Question, Is In Charge Of My Writing, In A Gigantic Minuscule Game Which Nobody Has Yet Described. It Is That Which At This Instant, Issuing Out Of A Labyrinthine Tangle Of Yeses And Nos, Makes My Hand Run Along A Certain Path On The Paper, Mark It With These Volutes That Are Signs: A Double Snap, Up And Down, Between Two Levels Of Energy, Guides This Hand Of Mine To Impress On The Paper This Dot, Here, This One.

Even In This Place One Can Survive, And Therefore One Must Want To Survive, To Tell The Story, To Bear Witness; And That To Survive We Must Force Ourselves To Save At Least The Skeleton, The Scaffolding, The Form Of Civilization. We Are Slaves, Deprived Of Every Right, Exposed To Every Insult, Condemned To Certain Death, But We Still Possess One Power, And We Must Defend It With All Our Strength For It Is The Last — The Power To Refuse Our Consent.

Man Is A Centaur, A Tangle Of Flesh And Mind, Divine Inspiration And Dust.

I Have Many Times Been Praised For My Lack Of Animosity Towards The Germans. It's Not A Philosophical Virtue. It's A Habit Of Having My Second Reactions Before The First.

To Accuse Another Of Having Weak Kidneys, Lungs, Or Heart, Is Not A Crime; On The Contrary, Saying He Has A Weak Brain Is A Crime.

The Living Are More Demanding; The Dead Can Wait.

Imagine Now A Man Who Is Deprived Of Everyone He Loves, And At The Same Time Of His House, His Habits, His Clothes, In Short, Of Everything He Possesses: He Will Be A Hollow Man, Reduced To Suffering And Needs, Forgetful Of Dignity And Restraint, For He Who Loses All Often Loses Himself.

Anyone Who Has Obeyed Nature By Transmitting A Piece Of Gossip Experiences The Explosive Relief That Accompanies The Satisfying Of A Primary Need.

The Work Of Bestial Degradation, Begun By The Victorious Germans, Had Been Carried To Its Conclusion By The Germans In Defeat.

At That Time I Had Not Yet Been Taught The Doctrine I Was Later To Learn So Hurriedly In The Lager: That Man Is Bound To Pursue His Own Ends By All Possible Means, While He Who Errs But Once Pays Dearly

The Sea's Only Gifts Are Harsh Blows And, Occasionally, The Chance To Feel Strong.

A Country Is Considered The More Civilised The More The Wisdom And Efficiency Of Its Laws Hinder A Weak Man From Becoming Too Weak And A Powerful One Too Powerful.

Did Chemistry Theorems Exist? No: Therefore You Had To Go Further, Not Be Satisfied With The Quia, Go Back To The Origins, To Mathematics And Physics. The Origins Of Chemistry Were Ignoble, Or At Least Equivocal: The Dens Of The Alchemists, Their Abominable Hodgepodge Of Ideas And Language, Their Confessed Interest In Gold, Their Levantine Swindles Typical Of Charlatans And Magicians; Instead, At The Origin Of Physics Lay The Strenuous Clarity Of The West-archimedes And Euclid.

The Butterfly's Attractiveness Derives Not Only From Colors And Symmetry: Deeper Motives Contribute To It. We Would Not Think Them So Beautiful If They Did Not Fly, Or If They Flew Straight And Briskly Like Bees, Or If They Stung, Or Above All If They Did Not Enact The Perturbing Mystery Of Metamorphosis: The Latter Assumes In Our Eyes The Value Of A Badly Decoded Message, A Symbol, A Sign.

If It Is True That There Is No Greater Sorrow Than To Remember A Happy Time In A State Of Misery, It Is Just As True That Calling Up A Moment Of Anguish In A Tranquil Mood, Seated Quietly At One's Desk, Is A Source Of Profound Satisfaction.

Sooner Or Later In Life Everyone Discovers That Perfect Happiness Is Unrealizable, But There Are Few Who Pause To Consider The Antithesis: That Perfect Unhappiness Is Equally Unattainable. The Obstacles Preventing The Realization Of Both These Extreme States Are Of The Same Nature: They Derive From Our Human Condition Which Is Opposed To Everything Infinite.

The Future Of Humanity Is Uncertain, Even In The Most Prosperous Countries, And The Quality Of Life Deteriorates; And Yet I Believe That What Is Being Discovered About The Infinitely Large And Infinitely Small Is Sufficient To Absolve This End Of The Century And Millennium. What A Very Few Are Acquiring In Knowledge Of The Physical World Will Perhaps Cause This Period Not To Be Judged As A Pure Return Of Barbarism.

Today I Think That If For No Other Reason Than That An Auschwitz Existed, No One In Our Age Should Speak Of Providence.

But Many, Many Stories Were Told; From What Could Be Gathered, All Fifty Of The Mine's Inhabitants Had Reacted On Each Other, Two By Two, As In Combinatorial Analysis, That Is To Say, Everyone With All The Others, And Especially Every Man With All The Women, Old Maids Or Married, And Every Woman With All The Men. All I Had To Do Was To Select Two Names At Random, Better If Different Sex, And Ask A Third Person, "what Happened With Those Two?" And Lo And Behold, A Splendid Story Was Unfolded For Me, Since Everyone Knew The Story Of Everyone Else.

He Was A Physicist, More Precisely An Astrophysicist, Diligent And Eager But Without Illusions: The Truth Lay Beyond, Inaccessible To Our Telescopes, Accessible To The Initiates. This Was A Long Road Which He Was Traveling With Effort, Wonderment, And Profound Joy. Physics Was Prose: Elegant Gymnastics For The Mind, Mirror Of Creation, The Key To Man's Dominion Over The Planet; But What Is The Stature Of Creation, Of Man And The Planet? His Road Was Long And He Had Barely Started Up It, But I Was His Disciple: Did I Want To Follow Him?

Creation Of Man

The Bond Between A Man And His Profession Is Similar To That Which Ties Him To His Country; It Is Just As Complex, Often Ambivalent, And In General It Is Understood Completely Only When It Is Broken: By Exile Or Emigration In The Case Of One's Country, By Retirement In The Case Of A Trade Or Profession.

Human Memory Is A Marvelous But Fallacious Instrument. The Memories Which Lie Within Us Are Not Carved In Stone; Not Only Do They Tend To Become Erased As The Years Go By, But Often They Change, Or Even Increase By Incorporating Extraneous Features.

If You And Your Child Were Going To Be Killed Tomorrow, Would You Not Give Him To Eat Today?

He Could Hardly Read Or Write But His Heart Spoke The Language Of The Good

It Is The Duty Of Righteous Men To Make War On All Undeserved Privilege, But One Must Not Forget That This Is A War Without End.

For Me Chemistry Represented An Indefinite Cloud Of Future Potentialities Which Enveloped My Life To Come In Black Volutes Torn By Fiery Flashes, Like Those Which Had Hidden Mount Sinai. Like Moses, From That Cloud I Expected My Law, The Principle Of Order In Me, Around Me, And In The World... I Would Watch The Buds Swell In Spring, The Mica Glint In The Granite, My Own Hands, And I Would Say To Myself: "i Will Understand This, Too, I Will Understand Everything.

Everybody Is Somebody's Jew.

Is Anything Sadder Than A Trainthat Leaves When It's Supposed To,that Has Only One Voice,only One Route?there's Nothing Sadder.except Perhaps A Cart Horse,shut Between Two Shaftsand Unable Even To Look Sideways.

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A Man Who Would Mutilate Himself Is Well Damned, Isn't He?

I Am Constantly Amazed By Man's Inhumanity To Man.

Inhumanity To Man

For He Who Loses All Often Easily Loses Himself.

I Too Entered The Lager As A Nonbeliever, And As A Nonbeliever I Was Liberated And Have Lived To This Day.

My Number Is 174517; We Have Been Baptized, We Will Carry The Tattoo On Our Left Arm Until We Die.

If A Writer Is Convinced That He Is Honest, Then It Is Very Difficult For Him To Be A Bad Writer.

Perhaps One Cannot, What Is More One Must Not, Understand What Happened, Because To Understand [the Holocaust] Is Almost To Justify...no Normal Human Being Will Ever Be Able To Identify With Hitler, Himmler, Goebbels, Eichmann, And Endless Others. This Dismays Us, And At The Same Time Gives Us A Sense Of Relief, Because Perhaps It Is Desirable That Their Words (and Also, Unfortunately, Their Deeds) Cannot Be Comprehensible To Us. They Are Non-human Words And Deeds, Really Counter-human.

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It Is This Refrain That We Hear Repeated By Everyone: You Are Not At Home, This Is Not A Sanatorium, The Only Exit Is By Way Of The Chimney. (what Did It Mean? Soon We Were All To Learn What It Meant.)

In History And In Life One Sometimes Seems To Glimpse A Ferocious Law Which States: To He That Has, Will Be Given; From He That Has Not, Will Be Taken Away.

Perfection Belongs To Narrated Events, Not To Those We Live.

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We Will Not Return No One Must Leave Here And So Carry To The World, Together With The Sign Impressed On His Skin, The Evil Tidings Of What Man's Presumption Made Of Man In Auschwitz

I Beg The Reader Not To Go In Search Of Messages. It Is A Term That I Detest Because It Distresses Me Greatly, For It Forces On Me Clothes That Are Not Mine, Which In Fact Belong To A Human Type That I Distrust; The Prophet, The Soothsayer, The Seer. I Am None Of These; I'm A Normal Man With A Good Memory Who Fell Into A Maelstrom And Got Out Of It More By Luck Than By Virtue, And Who From That Time On Has Preserved A Certain Curiosity About Maelstroms Large And Small, Metaphorical And Actual.

Conquering Matter Is To Understand It, And Understanding Matter Is Necessary To Understanding The Universe And Ourselves: And That Therefore Mendeleev's Periodic Table, Which Just During Those Weeks We Were Learning To Unravel, Was Poetry.

I Am Not Even Alive Enough To Know How To Kill Myself

Dawn Came On Us Like A Betrayer; It Seemed As Though The New Sun Rose As An Ally Of Our Enemies To Assist In Our Destruction.

Those Who Deny Auschwitz Would Be Ready To Remake It.

We Collected In A Group In Front Of Their Door, And We Experienced Within Ourselves A Grief That Was New For Us, The Ancient Grief Of The People That Has No Land, The Grief Without Hope Of The Exodus Which Is Renewed In Every Century.

A Scientist's Life, The Author Says, Is Indeed Conflictual, Formed By Battles, Defeats, And Victories: But The Adversary Is Always And Only The Unknown, The Problem To Be Solved, The Mystery To Be Clarified. It Is Never A Matter Of Civil War; Even Though Of Different Opinions, Or Of Different Political Leanings, Scientists Dispute Each Other, They Compete, But They Do Not Battle: They Are Bound Together By A Strong Alliance, By The Common Faith "in The Validity Of Maxwell's Or Boltzmann's Equations," And By The Common Acceptance Of Darwinism And The Molecular Structure Of Dna.

This Is The Most Immediate Fruit Of Exile, Of Uprooting: The Prevalence Of The Unreal Over The Real. Everyone Dreamed Past And Future Dreams, Of Slavery And Redemption, Of Improbable Paradises, Of Equally Mythical And Improbable Enemies; Cosmic Enemies, Perverse And Subtle, Who Pervade Everything Like The Air.

There Are Few Men Who Know How To Go To Their Deaths With Dignity, And Often They Are Not Those Whom One Would Expect.

Perhaps Kafka Laughed When He Told Stories [. . . ] Because One Isn't Always Equal To Oneself.

In Order For The Wheel To Turn, For Life To Be Lived, Impurities Are Needed, And The Impurities Of Impurities In The Soil, Too, As Is Known, If It Is To Be Fertile. Dissension, Diversity, The Grain Of Salt And Mustard Are Needed: Fascism Does Not Want Them, Forbids Them, And That's Why You're Not A Fascist; It Wants Everybody To Be The Same, And You Are Not. But Immaculate Virtue Does Not Exist Either, Or If It Exists It Is Detestable.

To Give A Name To A Thing Is As Gratifying As Giving A Name To An Island, But It Is Also Dangerous: The Danger Consists In One's Becoming Convinced That All Is Taken Care Of And That Once Named, The Phenomenon Has Also Been Explained.

The Trade Of Chemist (fortified, In My Case, By The Experience Of Auschwitz), Teaches You To Overcome, Indeed To Ignore, Certain Revulsions That Are Neither Necessary Or Congenital: Matter Is Matter, Neither Noble Nor Vile, Infinitely Transformable, And Its Proximate Origin Is Of No Importance Whatsoever. Nitrogen Is Nitrogen, It Passes Miraculously From The Air Into Plants, From These Into Animals, And From Animals Into Us; When Its Function In Our Body Is Exhausted, We Eliminate It, But It Still Remains Nitrogen, Aseptic, Innocent.

I Live In My House As I Live Inside My Skin: I Know More Beautiful, More Ample, More Sturdy And More Picturesque Skins: But It Would Seem To Me Unnatural To Exchange Them For Mine.

There Is Auschwitz, And So There Cannot Be God.

I'm A Libertine, But It's Not My Specialty.

Our Ignorance Allowed Us To Live, As You Are In The Mountains, And Your Rope Is Frayed And About To Break, But You Don't Know It And Feel Safe.

The Aims Of Life Are The Best Defense Against Death.

Each Of Us Bears The Imprint Of A Friend Met Along The Way; In Each The Trace Of Each.

An Enemy Who Sees The Error Of His Ways Ceases To Be An Enemy.

Auschwitz Is Outside Of Us, But It Is All Around Us, In The Air. The Plague Has Died Away, But The Infection Still Lingers And It Would Be Foolish To Deny It. Rejection Of Human Solidarity, Obtuse And Cynical Indifference To The Suffering Of Others, Abdication Of The Intellect And Of Moral Sense To The Principle Of Authority, And Above All, At The Root Of Everything, A Sweeping Tide Of Cowardice, A Colossal Cowardice Which Masks Itself As Warring Virtue, Love Of Country And Faith In An Idea.

Monsters Exist, But They Are Too Few In Numbers To Be Truly Dangerous. More Dangerous Are…the Functionaries Ready To Believe And Act Without Asking Questions.

Asking Questions

To Destroy A Man Is Difficult, Almost As Difficult As To Create One: It Has Not Been Easy, Nor Quick, But You Germans Have Succeeded. Here We Are, Docile Under Your Gaze; From Our Side You Have Nothing More To Fear; No Acts Of Violence, No Words Of Defiance, Not Even A Look Of Judgment.

We Must Be Listened To: Above And Beyond Our Personal Experience, We Have Collectively Witnessed A Fundamental Unexpected Event, Fundamental Precisely Because Unexpected, Not Foreseen By Anyone. It Happened, Therefore It Can Happen Again: This Is The Core Of What We Have To Say. It Can Happen, And It Can Happen Everywhere.

They Sensed That What Had Happened Around Them And In Their Presence, And In Them, Was Irrevocable. Never Again Could It Be Cleansed; It Would Prove That Man, The Human Species - We, In Short - Had The Potential To Construct An Enormity Of Pain, And That Pain Is The Only Force Created From Nothing, Without Cost And Without Effort. It Is Enough Not To See, Not To Listen, Not To Act.

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