I can promise you that the world is a factory. The sun stirs it, the humans rule it. And I remain. I carry them away.- spoken by death

Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.

My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.

As always, one of her books was next to her.

Five hundred souls. I carried them in my fingers, like suitcases. Or I'd throw them over my shoulder. It was only the the children I carried in my arms.

When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist in his face." (31.26)

Only in today's sick society can a man be persecuted for reading too many books.