I Think That We All, Each One

One Of The Ironies Of Courage, And The Reason Why We Prize It So Highly, Is That We Find It Easier To Be Brave For Someone Else Than We Do For Ourselves Alone.

The Contrast Between The Familiar And The Exceptional Was Everywhere Around Me. A Bullock Cart Was Drawn Up Beside A Modern Sports Car At A Traffic Signal. A Man Squatted To Relieve Himself Behind The Discreet Shelter Of A Satellite Dish. An Electric Forklift Truck Was Being Used To Unload Goods From An Ancient Wooden Cart With Wooden Wheels. The Impression Was Of A Plodding Indefatigable And Distant Past That Had Crashed Intact Through Barriers Of Time Into Its Own Future. I Liked It.

Hate Has No Literature: Real Fear And Real Hate Have No Words

I Went To War. .... I Survived, While Other Men Around Me Died. ... Men Whose Lives Were Crunched Up In Mistakes, And Thrown Away By The Wrong Second Of Someone Else's Hate, Or Love, Or Indifference.

Sometimes You Have To Lose To Win