You can tell a true war story by the questions you ask. Somebody tells a story, let's say, and afterward you ask, 'Is it true?' and if the answer matters, you've got your answer . . . Absolute occurrence is irrelevant. A thing may happen and be a total lie; another thing may not happen and be truer than the truth.

A lie, sometimes, can be truer than the truth, which is why fiction gets written.

("I love you," someone says, and instantly we begin to wonder - "Well, how much?" - and when the answer comes - "With my whole heart" - we then wonder about the wholeness of a fickle heart.) Our lovers, our husbands, our wives, our fathers, our gods - they are all beyond us.

They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried.

The presence of danger has a way of making you feel fully awake.

A lot like yesterday, a lot like never.

But this too is true: stories can save us.