[in his journal while imprisoned] The wind whispers of fear and hate. The war has killed love. And those that confess to the Angkar are punished, and no one dare ask where they go. Here, only the silent survive.

We must be like the ox, and have no thought, except for the Party. And have no love, but for the Angkar. People starve, but we must not grow food. We must honor the comrade children, whose minds are not corrupted by the past.

They brought in the whole fucking press corps. They want to sanitize the story. Bastards!

I can't eat eggs, someone told me they shrink with fright when you cook them.

Anything I eat's gotta be absolutely dead. That is why I can never eat an oyster. I read somewhere that they put that lemon juice on them just to stun them. What's the difference?

What pisses me off is that this country has a lot of faults and a lot of strengths and we have done nothing but play to the faults. I'll tell you Sid I will be damned glad to get out of here. This thing has dragged on too long for it to end in all sweetness and light and after what the Khmer Rouge have been through I don't think they're going to be exactly affectionate toward westerners.

[reading] Dear sir, My family and I are planning a touring vacation of southeast Asia and anticipate, uh 2 weeks in Cambodia touring the country. Would you please send tour information and brochures? Thanking you in advance, Wendal Payne. Wendal lives in Wisacky, South Carolina.

I know Sid but what can we do? It could be a bloodbath here. Look, excuse the pun but we're either staying or we're living.