Every body resisted (the slaughterer) in its own fashion, tried to escape and seemed to argue with the Creator to its last breath.

Literature has neglected the old and their emotions. The novelists never told us that in love, as in other matters, the young are just beginners and that the art of loving matures with age and experience.

Of course I believe in free will. Do we have a choice?

We know what a person thinks not when he tells us what he thinks, but by his actions.

Slaughter and justice cannot dwell together.

A good writer is basically a story teller, not a scholar or a redeemer of mankind.

Shoulders are from God and burdens too.