I crossed the Pyrenees in December, nearly got frozen to death in a blizzard and arrived carrying a violin, a camera and books.

Sadly, it takes her death, coming just seven months after diagnosis, and the fact that she had never smoked, to let the public see the real picture of lung cancer.

Rather than rotting in a jail, he might consider the ultimate martyrdom to be being put to death by the American infidels.

I expected to be shot at any moment and if they had done I would have understood, that they couldn't take risks with someone foolhardy or so unpredictable.

That last winter was a tragic story and I got no personal honour out of it but I was a witness to it.

The prospect Smiler was a manic farmer. Few men I think can have been as unfortunate as he; for on the one hand he was a melancholic with a loathing for mankind, on the other, some paralysis had twisted his mouth into a permanent and radiant smile. So everyone he met, being warmed by his smile, would shout him a happy greeting. And beaming upon them with his sunny face he would curse them all to hell.