Murderers, in general, are people who are consistent, people who are obsessed with one idea and nothing else.

Thought itself needs words. It runs on them like a long wire. And if it loses the habit of words, little by little it becomes shapeless, somber.

Each of us is the only person who can give the other what each of us wants to have: Peace.

Who cares about great marks left behind? We have one life... just one. Our life. We have nothing else.

Behind everything we feel, there is always a sense of fear.

Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.

I think the family is the place where the most ridiculous and least respectable things in the world go on.