Never shall I forget that first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, ... Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.

Night. The look in his eyes, as they stared into mine, has never left me.

No one is as capable of gratitude as one who has emerged from the kingdom of night.

I have to be self-conscious of what I'm trying to do with my life.

In any case, he had bungled his life. Bad husband, bad father, bad lover: failure all along the line . . . All the springs were broken. No more light anywhere . . . Everything he had tried to build had fallen apart. The little good he had done had resulted in fiasco. Whose fault could it be other than his own? . . . And anyone will tell you that if God Himself cannot undo what happened, still less can man.

I've given my life to the principle and the ideal of memory, and remembrance.