All of this happened a long time ago. But not so long ago that everyone who played a part in it is dead. Some can still be met in dark old rooms with nurses in attendance.

I write against violence. I write against fascism. I write against one person dominating another.

Nothing so completely verifies our perception of a thing as our killing of it.

I doubt we will ever be forgiven. All I hope is – they'll remember we were human beings

... too much brooding, not enough doing.

The spaces between the perceiver and the thing perceived can [...] be closed with a shout of recognition.

They waited. The door did not open. The rain did not stop. The darkness made a tent and covered them completely.