I opened my mouth, then shut it, then, very slowly, I held my hands up in front of me.
I nearly fell again, but new hands grabbed me from in front and dragged me down a steel floor and then forced me to my knees and locked my hands to something behind me.
If you scatter thorns, don't go barefoot.
I'm all in favor of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools. Let's start with typewriters.
Sitting in the back of that Hummer, my head in a hood, my hands lashed behind my back, lurching back and forth while the bruises swelled up on my head, terrorism suddenly felt a lot riskier.
To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best day and night to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
History is more or less bunk.