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

It's not just: you get off the plane, you're back home, everything's fine. Maybe the physical danger ends, but soldiers are still deeply at risk of being injured in a different way.

The details of the world in which we live are always secondary to the fact that we must live in them.

The war came to me in my dreams and showed me its sole purpose: to go on, only to go on.

I guess I find the boundaries between poetry and prose to be somewhat permeable.

I knew that at least a few of the stars I saw were probably gone already, collapsed into nothing. I felt like I was looking at a lie. But I didn't mind. The world makes liars of us all.

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.