But I remember being told that the truth does not depend on being believed.

All pain is the same. Only the details are different.

Michael Koryta's THOSE WHO WISH ME DEAD is an absolutely thrilling read. I read most of it with my breath held, occasionally exhaling to ask myself, 'What will happen next?' I highly recommend it.

There is a sharp distinction between what is remembered, what is told and what is true.

To understand the world, one’s place in it, is to be always at the risk of drowning.

You want to fall, that's all. You think it can't go on like that. It's as if your life is a perch on the edge of a cliff and going forward seems impossible, not for a lack of will, but a lack of space. The possibility of another day stands in defiance of the laws of physics. And you can't go back. So you want to fall, let go, give up, but you can't. And every breath you take reminds you of that fact. So it goes.

I understood that 'The Yellow Birds' would be a peculiar representation of the experience of being at war. I intended it to be so.