“You can get used to anything - haven't I already said that? Isn't that what all survivors say?”

“So you want another story?"Uhh... no. We would like to know what really happened."Doesn't the telling of something always become a story?"Uhh... perhaps in English. In Japanese a story would have an element of invention in it. We don't want any invention. We want the 'straight facts,' as you say in English."Isn't telling about something--using words, English or Japanese--already something of an invention? Isn't just looking upon this world already something of an invention?”

“It is simple and brutal: a person can get used to anything, even to killing.”

“Things didn't turn out the way they used to, but what can you do? You must take life the way it comes at you and make the best of it.”

“You may be astonished that in such a short period of time I could go from weeping over the muffled killing of a flying fish to gleefully bludgeoning to death a dorado. I could explain it by arguing that profiting from a pitiful flying fish’s navigational mistake made me shy and sorrowful, while the excitement of actively capturing a great dorado made me sanguinary and self-assured. But in point of fact the explanation lies elsewhere. It is simple and brutal: a person can get used to anything, even to killing.”

“Afterwards, when it's all over, you meet God. What do you say to God?”

“Bapu Ghandi said, "All religions are true." I just want to love God, " I blurted out, and looked down, red in the face. My embarassment was contagious. No one said anything. It happened that we were not far from the statue of Gandhi on the esplanade. Stick in hand, an impish smile on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes, the Mahatma walked. I fancy that he heard our conversation, but that he paid even greater attention to my heart, Father cleared his throat and said in a half-voice, " I suppose that's what wer're all trying to do - love God.”