"Perhaps a man who cheated death the way I did, and savored the intoxicating luxury of freedom, is fated to live his days without an outer skin. But sometimes, at the moments of dark premonition, I see in the images of political helplessness, hysterical mobs, religious fanaticism, refugee boats, and mushroom clouds, the vision of a global Auschwitz. At such times, against my profound commitment to calm reason, against my love of life, against my confidence in man, I feel as though in that indescribable period when a man-made typhoon shattered my world, my family, my existence and my mind... ...
