One grows out of pity when it's useless.
You know very well that I no longer think. I am far too intelligent for that.
We used to wonder where war lived, what it was that made it so vile. And now we realize that we know where it lives... inside ourselves.
Blessed are the hearts that can bend; they shall never be broken.
Truth and freedom, having few lovers, are demanding mistresses.
It is immoral not to tell.