I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.

The scrawled words of practice stood magnificently on the wall by the stairs, jagged and childlike and sweet. They looked on as both the hidden Jew and the girl slept, hand to shoulder. They breathed. German and Jewish lungs.

When we move apart, she looks at me again, till a small tear lifts itself up in her eye. It trips out to find a wrinkle and follows it down.

That was when the world wasn't so big and I could see everywhere. It was when my father was a hero and not a human.

There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty.

Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this.

Beautiful women are the torment of my existence.