For the first week of the Sian events I was a first aid worker in the streets of Sian. 
I hate female men.
Everybody calls everybody a spy, secretly, in Russia, and everybody is under surveillance. You never feel safe. 
There's something dreadfully decisive about a beheading.
I have loved and bitterness left me for that hour. But there are times when love itself is bitter.
Much that we read of Russia is imagination and desire only.
To die would have been beautiful. But I belong to those who do not die for the sake of beauty. 
When I was a girl, the West was still young, and the law of force, of physical force, was dominant. 
What a couple. I'm consumed into ashes. And he's always raking up the ashes and setting them on fire again. 
I feel like a person living on the brink of a volcano crater. 
But settled things were enemies to me and soon lost their newness and color. The unknown called. 