Persecution matures young rebels.

Strange are the ways of history, where no single thing abides, but all things flow into each other, fragment to fragment clinging.

Love from one being to another can only be that two solitudes come nearer, recognize and protect and comfort each other.

The rice bowl is to me the most valid reason in the world for doing anything. A piece of one's soul to the multitudes in return for rice and wine does not seem to me a sacrilege.

Persecution matures young rebels.

It is the illusion of all lovers to think themselves unique and their words immortal.

This is Malaya. Everything takes a long, a very long time, in Malaya. Things get done, occasionally, but more often they don't, and the more in a hurry you are, the quicker you break down.