Oh, it is not death that frightens me, but the impossibility of imparting some meaning to my past.

If we want to know history, I would think there would be every reason to.

Indifference elicits no response. Indifference is not a response. Indifference is not a beginning; it is an end. And, therefore, indifference is always the friend of the enemy, for it benefits the aggressor - never his victim, whose pain is magnified when he or she feels forgotten.

After my father's death, nothing could touch me any more.

I feel that books, just like people, have a destiny. Some invite sorrow, others joy, some both.

I don't want my past to become anyone else's future.

Next to him lay his violin, trampled, an eerily poignant little corpse.