In A Mad World It

Thought's A Luxury. Do You Think The Peasant Sits And Thinks Of God And Democracy When He Gets Inside His Mud Hut At Night?

Insecurity Twists Meanings And Poisons Trust. In A Closely Beleaguered City Every Sentry Is A Potential Traitor.

You Cannot Conceive, Nor Can I, Of The Appalling Strangeness Of The Mercy Of God.

A Story Has No Beginning Or End: Arbitrarily One Chooses That Moment Of Experience From Which To Look Back Or From Which To Look Ahead.

We Are All Of Us Resigned To Death: It's Life We Aren't Resigned To.