There Is No Man, And No Place,

The Touch Was Exactly What The Touch Of A Lover's Hand Should Be: Familiar, Yet Exciting As A Whispered Promise. I Felt An Almost Irresistible Urge To Take Her Hand And Place It Flat Against My Chest, Near My Heart. Maybe I Should've Done It. I Know Now That She Would've Laughed, If I'd Done It, And She Would've Liked Me For It. But Strangers That We Were Then, We Stood For Five Long Seconds And Held The Stare, While All The Parallel Worlds, All The Parallel Lives That Might've Been, And Never Would Be, Whirled Around Us.

But The Soul Has No Culture. The Soul Has No Nations. The Soul Has No Colour Or Accent Or Way Of Life. The Soul Is Forever. The Soul Is One. And When The Heart Has Its Moment Of Truth And Sorrow, The Soul Can't Be Stilled.

The Only Victory That Really Counts In Prison Is Survival. But Survival Means More Than Simply Being Alive. It's Not Just The Body That Must Survive A Jail Term; The Spirit And The Will And The Heart Have To Make It Through As Well. If Any One Of Them Is Broken Or Destroyed, The Man Whose Living Body Walks Through The Gate, At The End Of His Sentence, Can't Be Said To Have Survived It. And It's For Those Small Victories Of The Heart, And The Spirit, And The Will That We Sometimes Risk The Body That Cradles Them.

The Simple And Astonishing Truth About India And Indian People Is That When You Go There, And Deal With Them, Your Heart Always Guides You More Wisely Than Your Head. There's Nowhere Else In The World Where That's Quite So True.

Its A Fact Of Being In Love That We Often Pay No Attention Whatsoever To The Substance Of What A Lover Says, While Being Intoxicated To Ecstasy By The Way It's Said. I Was In Love With Her Eyes, But I Didn't Read Them. I Loved Her Voice, But I Didn't Really Hear The Fear & The Anguish In It.