“His dreams were full of bloodshed. He ran and ran, but wherever he fled, his mother's people and his father's people were in battle with each other. And then Shaftali and Sainnaite both turned on him crying out "No one of your heritage will ever cook for us!""So what?" he replied, absurdly. "At the rate you're killing each other, there soon will be no one to cook for!”

“When I met him, he hadn't eaten for days, and lived in a rathole. But his rifle was clean and he had lots of ammunition. Whenever he heard shooting he ran towards it. If it was workers shooting at priests, state officials, capitalists, or cops, he'd empty his rifle as fast as he could fill it. But if two groups of workers ever shot at each other, he'd risk his life by standing between them and shouting, "When workers kill each other, there is no more reason to live! Kill me from both sides."-- Luisa Nachalo”

“He's a cabinet minister and his mother was a cook. My father was a doctor and I'm a cook. Perhaps I passed him on the way down, or did he pass me on the way up?”

“Once upon a time, a fisherman went out to sea. He caught many fish and threw them all into a large bucket on his boat. The fish were not yet dead, so the man decided to ease their suffering by killing them swiftly. While he worked, the cold air made his eyes water. One of the wounded fish saw this and said to the other: "What a kind heart this fisherman has- see how he cries for us." The other fish replied: "Ignore his tears and watch what he is doing with his hands.”

“He dipped her low and kissed her fiercely, as if he were angry, and each time his lips left hers, even just for half a second, the most parching thirst ran through her, making her cry out.”

“These were his people--a strange thought. Maybe not his very own people, as in father, mother, brother, sister, but people just like him. He was lost but not so lost after all.”