In hea­ven we feed each other

Mr. Black said, „I once went to report on a vil­la­ge in Rus­sia, a com­mu­ni­ty of artists who were forced to flee the cities! I’d heard that pain­tings hung ever­y­whe­re! I heard you could­n’t see the walls through all of the pain­tings! They’d pain­ted the cei­lings, the pla­tes, the win­dows, the lamp­sha­des! Was it an act of rebel­li­on! An act of expres­si­on! Were the pain­tings good, or was that bes­i­de the point! I nee­ded to see it for mys­elf, and I nee­ded to tell the world about it! I used to live for report­ing like that! Sta­lin found out about the com­mu­ni­ty and sent his thugs in, just a few days befo­re I got the­re, to break all of their arms! That was worse than kil­ling them! It was a hor­ri­ble sight, Oskar: their arms in cru­de splints, straight in front of them like zom­bies! They could­n’t feed them­sel­ves, becau­se they could­n’t get their hands to their mouths! So you know what they did!“ „They star­ved?“ „They fed each other! That’s the dif­fe­rence bet­ween hea­ven and hell! In hell we star­ve! In hea­ven we feed each other!“ „I don’t belie­ve in the after­li­fe.“ „Neither do I, but I belie­ve in the story!“
(Jona­than Safran Foer – Extre­me­ly Loud & Incre­di­bly Close)