How does one say in the jargon of musicology that my sould was pulled out of me and thrown up in the air, to be tossed about by the music. How does one say that I breathed, that I existed, in harmony with the ups and downs of those notes. What kind of notes both elevate and cast down, exalt and crush?

To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.

When your own life is threatened, your sense of empathy is blunted by a terrible, selfish hunger for survival.

Christianity stretches back through the ages, but in essence it exists only at one time: right now.

You can get used to anything - haven't I already said that? Isn't that what all survivors say?

You may not believe in life, but I don't believe in death. Move on!

I went about the job in a direct way. I took the hatchet in both my hands and vigorously beat the fish on the head with the hammerhead (I still didn’t have the stomach to use the sharp edge). The dorado did the most extraordinary thing as it died: it began to flash all kinds of colours in rapid succession. Blue, green, red, gold, and violet flickered and shimmered neon-like on its surface as it struggled. I felt I was beating a rainbow to death.