To hell with being ashamed of what you liked.

If the word has the potency to revive and make us free, it has also the power to bind, imprison and destroy.

America is woven of many strands. I would recognise them and let it so remain. Our fate is to become one, and yet many. This is not prophecy, but description.

The act of writing requires a constant plunging back into the shadow of the past where time hovers ghostlike.

When I discover who I am, I'll be free.

That which we remember is, more often than not, that which we would like to have been; or that which we hope to be. Thus our memory and our identity are ever at odds; our history ever a tale told by inattentive idealists.

Please, a definition: A hibernation is a covert preparation for a more overt action.