The enslavement, humiliation, torture, and ultimate destruction of thousands upon thousands of human beings for a project for which there was ultimately no purpose is a horror that's very hard to imagine, far less understand.

When forging money, I had always salved my conscience by concluding that I was merely extending the lie of commerce.

I think writing should be about change.

Murder and hate are as deeply buried in the human heart as love, perhaps more so, and in truth they're rather entwined, and if you tried to separate them, you'd be missing something important and human.

The path to survival was to never give up on the small things.

It's a sin for a writer to go looking for camels to put into his or her pages. I only want details that are the story.

Is it easier for a man to live his life again as a fish, than to accept the wonder of being human? So alone, so frightened, so wanting for what we are afraid to give tongue to.