Death, of course, is a refuge. It's where you go when a new name, or a mask and cape, can no longer hide you from yourself. It's where you run to when none of the principalities of your conscience will grant you asylum.

I wanted to look at the differences between how we fought then and how we fight now, because the current lack of closure generates a state of psychological unease that is interesting to acknowledge and examine.

If I can't write it would be as if I died.

Our own personal brand of courage - in relationships, in conflict, in our principles ­ - is as unique as our fingerprints.

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

We were exiles from reality that summer. We were refugees from ourselves.

You travel here and you travel there, trying to get out from under the cloud, and nothing works, and then one day you realize you've been carrying the weather around with you.