At this point in time the war [ WWII] is close enough to still feel hotly personal to a writer, yet far enough away so that jingoism and heroics are no longer required.

Life is extremely short and you cannot dance to current affairs.

I could not stop talking because now I had started my story, it wanted to be finished. We cannot choose where to start and stop. Our stories are the tellers of us.

And thus love makes fools of us all.

It is certainly impossible to imagine forgiving the enemy while their animus remains undefeated.

If your face is swollen from the severe beatings of life, smile and pretend to be a fat man.

Our stories are the tellers of us.