“The schools wear the blank faces of war buildings, their windows blown blind by rocks or guns or mortars. Their plaster is an acne of bullet marks. The huts and small houses crouch open and vulnerable; their doors are flimsy pieces of plyboard or sacks hanging and lank. Children and chickens and dogs scratch in the red, raw soil and stare at us as we drive through their open, eroding lives.”

“They say when one door shuts, another one opens. But they haven’t been living at my house. Most of the doors I open seem to have something scary crouched behind them, anyway.”

“We dream of a brighter future, quiet, adjust. But we open hidden doors, doors that destroy our world slowly piece by piece. War will be the end of the human race but even if some survive war will never end.”

“Because we would not wear any clothes because it was so hot and the windows open and the swallows flying over the roofs of the houses and when it was dark afterward and you went to the window very small bats hunting over the houses and close down over the trees and we would drink capri and the door locked and it hot and only a sheet and the whole night and we would both love each other all night in the hot night in Milan. That was how it ought to be.”

“I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.”

“An open sack hides nothing, And an open door hides little, but an open man is surely hiding something.lini is quoted by Nynaeve.”