I wanted to get out of our thimble of a town, where every stone had eyes.

Who can take a single step with his head?

Some people speak and sing and walk and sit and sleep and silence their homesickness, for a long time, and to no avail. Some say that over time homesickness loses its specific content, that it starts to smolder and only then becomes all-consuming, because it’s no longer focused on a concrete home. I am one of the people who say that.

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

Writing itself does not know what it looks like while one is doing it, only when it's finished.

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

In this county, we had to walk, eat, sleep and love in fear.