Only the demented would not have raised their hands in the great hall. They had exchanged fear for insanity".

Once upon a time they had some bad luck, and they blame everything on that.

If only the right person would have to leave, everyone else would be able to stay in the country.

Language is so different from life. How am I supposed to fit the one into the other? How can I bring them together?

In Romanian society, I am not particularly well-liked. I don't often receive invitations.

To combat death you don't need much of a life, just one that isn't yet finished.

I'm always telling myself I don't have many feelings. Even when something does affect me I'm only moderately moved. I almost never cry. It's not that I'm stronger than the ones with teary eyes, I'm weaker. They have courage. When all you are is skin and bones, feelings are a brave thing. I'm more of a coward. The difference is minimal though, I just use my strength not to cry. When I do allow myself a feeling, I take the part that hurts and bandage it up with a story that doesn't cry, that doesn't dwell on homesickness.