Politicians are better liars than writers.

I have written too much about lives - I feel I have lived for too long.

I talk to trees and animals. We have interesting conversations about food, weather, and love. They sometimes can predict the future.

Tomorrow we will be nothing but earth and dust. Who will remember the love a soldier once knew?

Dying is so simple. A fleeting moment of suffering. In the blink of an eye you are over the threshold, into another world. No more pain, no more fears. You sleep so well there. Dying is like rubbing snow together, setting fire to a whole winter of cold and ice.

Out on the street I start to run; I need to breathe in this life, the trees, the warmth of my town. I will be able to control my own fate and I will know how to be happy. Happiness is something you lay siege to, it is a battle . . .

Heroes are damned. No mortal conquers Death.