TODAY I consider it my good fortune that Fate designated Braunau on the Inn as the place of my birth. For this small town is situated on the border between those two German States, the reunion of which seems, at least to us of the younger generation, a task to be furthered
with every means our lives long. German-Austria must return to the great German motherland, and not because of economic considerations of any sort. No, no: even if from the economic point of view this union were unimportant, indeed, if it were harmful, it
ought nevertheless to be brought about. Common blood belongs in a common Reich. As long as the German nation is unable even to band together its own children in one common State, it has no moral right to think of colonization as one of its political aims. Only when the boundaries of the Reich include even the last German, only when it is no
longer possible to assure him of daily bread inside them,does there arise, out of the distress of the nation, the moral
right to acquire foreign soil and territory. The sword is then the plow, and from the tears of war there grows the daily bread for generations to come. Therefore, this little town on the border appears to me the symbol of a great
task. But in another respect also it looms up as a warning
