I tell myself lies and soon I believe them.

Inside all people there is love, also the need to take care of the other man who is his brother. Inside everyone is a savage, but there is also happening tenderness and compassion.

I wish to cup knowledge in my hand and drink it as one drinks water by the side of the stream.

I learned that in each of us there burns a flame of independence that must never be allowed to go out. That as long as it exists within us we cannot be destroyed.

Innocents, the meat in a ghastly sandwich between an uncaring society and a vengeful state.

What's the point in being an unpopular writer? It just doesn't make a lot of sense. For me it doesn't, anyway.

I have found in life that everything, no matter how bad, comes to an end.