...there was another, gorier parturition, when two nations incarnated out of one. A foreigner drew a magic line on a map and called it the new border; it became a river of blood upon the earth. And the orchards, fields, factories, businesses, all on the wrong side of that line, vanished with a wave of the pale conjuror's wand.

Loss is essential. Loss is part and parcel of that necessary calamity called life.

Hahnji, mister, you must be patient. Before you can name that corner, our future must become past.

There was no such thing as perfect privacy, life was a perpetual concert-hall recital with a captive audience.

I think a lot about the past, it's true. But at my age, the past is more present than the here and now. And there is not much percentage in the future.

In the end, it’s all a question of balance.

Lately you are brooding too much about rights. Give up this dangerous habit.