Even through the shut window pane, the world looked cold.

When I talk to anyone or read the writings of anyone who has any axe to grind, I feel that intellectual honesty and balanced judgement have simply disappeared from the face of the earth. Everyone's thought is forensic, everyone is simply putting a "case" with deliberate suppression of his opponent's point of view, and, what is more, with complete insensitiveness to any sufferings except those of himself and his friends.

To die hating them, that was freedom.

The whole experience of being hit by a bullet is very interesting and I think worth describing in detail.

It's not so much staying alive, it's staying human that's important. What counts is that we don't betray each other.

Until one has some kind of professional relationship with books, one does not discover how bad the majority of them are.

Using clichés is a substitute for thinking