We write not only for children but also for their parents. They, too, are serious children.
But my gloom did not lessen. I knew that I'd had a bad dream, and I stood in the dark trying to recollect it. The second I closed my eyes, I was with the dead. They did things words cannot express. They spoke madness. ("Hanka")
The New England conscience doesn't keep you from doing what you shouldn't - it just keeps you from enjoying it.
The pessimism of the creative person is not decadence but a mighty passion for the redemption of man.
The ghetto was not only a place of refuge for a persecuted minority but a great experiment in peace, in self-discipline and in humanism. As such it still exists and refuses to give up in spite of all the brutality that surrounds it. I was brought up among those people.
What's the good of not believing? Today it's your wife you don't believe; tomorrow it's God Himself you won't take stock in.
Sometimes you have the feeling that some little imp is standing behind you and dictating to you, but he gives it to you slowly, drop by drop.
They still believe in God, the family, angels, witches, goblins, logic, clarity, punctuation, and other obsolete stuff.
Every body resisted (the slaughterer) in its own fashion, tried to escape and seemed to argue with the Creator to its last breath.
As much as I can give of myself I give of myself. There's no reason why not. And when I have to hide something, I let the character speak.
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