My Skin Was The Border Between The

I Have Two Homes, Like Someone Who Leaves Their Hometown And/or Parents And Then Establishes A Life Elsewhere. They Might Say That They're Going Home When They Return To See Old Friends Or Parents, But Then They Go Home As Well When They Go To Where They Live Now. Sarajevo Is Home, Chicago Is Home.

We Hated Pretentiousness; It Was A Form Of Self-hatred.

The Perfect Borscht Is What Life Should Be But Never Is.

Belief And Delusion Are Incestuous Siblings.

It Is So Much Easier To Deal With The Dead Than With The Living. The Dead Are Out Of The Way, Merely Characters From Stories About The Past, Never Again Unreadable, No Misunderstandings Possible, The Pain Coming From Them Stable And Manageable. Nor Do You Have To Explain Yourself To Them, To Justify The Fact Of Your Life.