I Do Think It Is Harder To

When I Reached Fort Binjemma, For Example, Where My Grandfather Was Stationed For A While, The Whole Victorian Fort Was Decaying. Barbed Wire Surrounded It, Spray Paint On The Ancient Walls Claimed It As Private Property, And The Moat Where My Grandfather And His Men Had Grown Crops - In Desperation As The Siege's Hunger Bit - Was Completely Overgrown With Bushes And Trees.

A Scar Is Never Ugly. That Is What The Scar Makers Want Us To Think. A Scar Does Not Form On The Dying. A Scar Means, I Survived.

So When I Say That I Am A Refugee, You Must Understand That There Is No Refuge.

The Future Looks Like Gasoline. . . . Crude Oil . . . Is The Future Before It Has Been Refined. It Is Like A Dream Of The Future, Really, And Like Any Dream It Ends With A Rude Awakening.

Sometimes We Don't Notice That Someone Is Being Brave, Because They Are Only Doing Something That Seems Quite Easy For Us.