This is not a story of heroic feats, or merely the narrative of a cynic; at least I do not mean it to be. It is a glimpse of two lives running parallel for a time, with similar hopes and convergent dreams.

How is it possible to feel nostalgia for a world I never knew?

Man truly achieves his full human condition when he produces without being compelled by the physical necessity of selling himself as a commodity.

Arms cannot be regarded as merchandise in our world. They should be delivered to the peoples asking for them for use against the common enemy without any charge at all, and in quantities determined by the need and their availability.

I would rather die standing up to live life on my knees.

I will fight with all the weapons within my reach rather than let myself be nailed to a cross or whatever.

Wrapped in a police blanket, I watched the rain and smoked one black cigarette after another.