Food Is Music To The Body, Music

While I Was Chained To A Wall And Being Tortured, I Realized, Through The Screaming Of My Mind, That Even In That Shackled, Bloody Helplessness, I Was Still Free: Free To Hate The Men Who Were Torturing Me, Or To Forgive Them. It Doesn't Sound Like Much, I Know. But In The Flinch And Bite Of The Chain, When It's All You've Got, That Freedom Is A Universe Of Possibility. And The Choice You Make Between Hating And Forgiving, Can Become The Story Of Your Life.

The Past Reflects Eternally Between Two Mirrors - The Bright Mirror Of Words And Deeds, And The Dark One, Full Of Things We Didn't Do Or Say.

Good Soldiers Are Defined By What They Can Endure, Not By What They Can Inflict.

I Was Free. Every Day, When You're On The Run, Is The Whole Of Your Life. Every Free Minute Is A Short Story With A Happy Ending.

While The Foods Were Being Prepared, I Watched As Men Dragged A Foot-operated Grinding Wheel Into An Open Space, And The Groom Devoted A Tense Hour To Putting A Razor's Edge To A Large, Ornate Dagger. The Bride's Father Watched That Effort With A Critical Eye. After Satisfying Himself That The Weapon Was Suitably Lethal, He Gravely Accepted It As A Gift From The Younger Man. The Groom Has Just Sharpened The Knife That The Bride's Father Will Use On Him, If He Ever Mistreats The Girl.