We Were Exiles From Reality That Summer.

It's Extremely Hard For Athletes To Accept What's Happened To Them Sometimes. It's Hard To Be Beaten By A Small Margin, And I've Spoken With Athletes Who, For Years Afterward, Have Been Tormented By The Knowledge That, Had They Done Something Ever So Slightly Different, They Could Have Been One-ten-thousandth Of A Second Quicker.

I Planned How I Would Kill Myself In The Time Of Churchill (stand Under Bombs), Victoria (throw Myself Under A Horse), And Henry The Eighth (marry Henry The Eighth)- Little Bee

The Reason Why I Love People, And Writing About Them, Is Because They Don't Always Respond With Hate And Anger. If They Did I Wouldn't Have A Story To Tell. Who Wants To Know About Someone Who Was Brutalised And Became Brutal? I'm Interested In The Exceptions.

A Scar Is Never Ugly. That Is What The Scar Makers Want Us To Think. A Scar Does Not Form On The Dying. A Scar Means, I Survived.

I Think My Ideal Man Would Speak Many Languages. He Would Speak Ibo And Yoruba And English And French And All Of The Others. He Could Speak With Any Person, Even The Soldiers, And If There Was Violence In Their Heart He Could Change It. He Would Not Have To Fight, Do You See? Maybe He Would Not Be Very Handsome, But He Would Be Beautiful When He Spoke. He Would Be Very Kind, Even If You Burned His Food Because You Were Laughing And Talking With Your Girlfriends Instead Of Watching The Cooking. He Would Just Say, 'ah, Never Mind'.