The war keeps taking pieces of me anyway. Makes the rest of me harder to hit.

The war could kill the faith in him, too, if he was not strong or careful enough. He could feel it fluttering within him sometimes, a bird in a cage of knives. Its own blood on its face and wings.

It's weird when you hear teachers call each other by their first names. It's like they're friends or something.

Transcendence and dissolution, always the same thing.

We do not know what is on the other side of the storm.

The war keeps taking pieces of me anyway. Makes the rest of me harder to hit.