justice itself is a chimera, a delusion. Justice is not a flat yardstick, applied in equal measure to an equal situation.

Writing, for me, is a search for God.

But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes.

I have more to say than Hemingway, and God knows, I say it better than Faulkner.

For in a swift radiance of illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and valor. Of the endless fluid passage of the humanity through endless time. And of those who labor and of those who - one word- love. His soul expanded. But for a moment only. For in him, he felt a warning, a shaft of terror.

The closest thing to being cared for is to care for someone else.

In the face of brutality I was prudent. Before injustice I held my peace. I sacrificed the things in hand for the good of the hypothetical whole. I believed in the tongue instead of the fist. As an armor against oppression I taught patience and faith in the human soul. I know now how wrong I was. I have been a traitor to myself and to my people. All that is rot.