For the dead and the living, we must bear witness.

I write to understand as much as to be understood.

There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.

You cross a border and the policeman or the frontier policeman look at you, What are you doing here? Why are you coming? How long will you stay? Well, if I had nearly enough years, I would write a novel about being a refugee.

Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe.

Yet another last night. The last night at home, the last night in the ghetto, the last night in the train, and, now, the last night in Buna. How much longer were our lives to be dragged out from one 'last night' to another?

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