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Ring of Steel: Germany and Austria-Hungary in World War I

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Alexander Watson

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“In vielen österreichischen Einheiten sprachen Offiziere und Mannschaften unterschiedliche Sprachen. So berichtete der Stabschef des österreichischen I. Korps bei der Schlacht von Münchengrätz, dass das gemischte polnische und ukrainische 30. Regiment tapfer bis zum Einbruch der Dämmerung gekämpft habe, die Männer dann aber nicht mehr in das Lage gewesen seien, die pantomimisch erteilten Anweisungen ihrer Offiziere zu erkennen.”

“Культура империи была аристократична, но аристократизм вообще есть основа всякой высокой культуры. (Вот почему, кстати, народы, по какой-либо причине оказавшиеся лишенными или никогда не имевшие собственной «узаконенной» элиты — дворянства и т.п., не создали, по существу, ничего достойного мирового уровня, во всяком случае, их вклад в этом отношении несопоставим с вкладом народов, таковую имевшими.) Сама сущность высоких проявлений культуры глубоко аристократична: лишь немногие способны делать что-то такое, чего не может делать большинство (будь то сфера искусства, науки или государственного управления). Наличие соответствующей среды, свойственных ей идеалов и представлений абсолютно необходимо как для формирования и поддержания потребности в существовании высоких проявлений культуры, так и для стимуляции успехов в этих видах деятельности лиц любого социального происхождения.”

“Time has a different meaning for me, and these events that seem so monumental in the moment will one day be nothing more than a line in a scroll. These humans are but letters to be inked into history. A hundred years from now, I will be free. I will have forgotten their names and faces, and the struggles they have will not matter. Time has a way of burying things, shifting like the desert and swallowing entire civilizations, erasing them from map and memory. Always, in the end, everything returns to dust.”

“But if one doesn't really exist, one wonders why..." she hesitated. "Why one makes such a fuss about things," Anthony suggested. "All that howling and hurrahing and gnashing of teeth. About the adventures of a self that isn't really a self—just the result of a lot of accidents. And of course," he went on, "once you start wondering, you see at once that there is no reason for making such a fuss. And then you don't make a fuss—that is, if you're sensible. Like me," he added, smiling.”

“On the morning of November 22nd, a Friday, it became clear the gap between living and dying was closing. Realizing that Aldous [Huxley] might not survive the day, Laura [Huxley's wife] sent a telegram to his son, Matthew, urging him to come at once. At ten in the morning, an almost inaudible Aldous asked for paper and scribbled "If I go" and then some directions about his will. It was his first admission that he might die ... Around noon he asked for a pad of paper and scribbled LSD-try it intermuscular 100mm In a letter circulated to Aldous's friends, Laura Huxley described what followed: 'You know very well the uneasiness in the medical mind about this drug. But no 'authority', not even an army of authorities, could have stopped me then. I went into Aldous's room with the vial of LSD and prepared a syringe. The doctor asked me if I wanted him to give the shot- maybe because he saw that my hands were trembling. His asking me that made me conscious of my hands, and I said, 'No, I must do this.' An hour later she gave Huxley a second 100mm. Then she began to talk, bending close to his ear, whispering, 'light and free you let go, darling; forward and up. You are going forward and up; you are going toward the light. Willingly and consciously you are going, willingly and consciously, and you are doing this beautifully — you are going toward the light — you are going toward a greater love … You are going toward Maria's [Huxley's first wife, who had died many years earlier] love with my love. You are going toward a greater love than you have ever known. You are going toward the best, the greatest love, and it is easy, it is so easy, and you are doing it so beautifully.' All struggle ceased. The breathing became slower and slower and slower until, 'like a piece of music just finishing so gently in sempre piu piano, dolcamente,' at twenty past five in the afternoon, Aldous Huxley died.”

“Успокойтесь, вы с ним оба - страстные натуры, вам совершенно недоступны умеренные широты, а только на них человек еще сохраняет шансы продлить свое счастье. У него - экстремизм души и идей, у вас - экстремизм сердца и чувств... Очень скверно! Страсти, как сердечные, так и идейные, в конечном счете превращают мир в джунгли. Вспомните эти строчки из Уильяма Блейка: "Tiger, tiger, burning bright, in the forests of the night..." ["Тигр, тигр, пылающий ярко в ночном лесу..." (англ.)] Я не знаю более яркого и точного образа страсти...”