Each man was his own executioner and his own victim.

Perhaps fate isn't blind after all. Perhaps it's capable of fantasy, even compassion.

For the dead and the living, we must bear witness. Not only are we responsible for the memories of the dead, we are responsible for what we do with those memories

Every moment is a new beginning.

Indifference is the sign of sickness, a sickness of the soul more contagious than any other.

If there is a single theme that dominates all my writings, all my obsessions, it is that of memory-because I fear forgetfulness as much as hatred and death.

What is man? Ally of God or simply his toy? His triumph or his fall?