" I had lost sight of G. Z. and didn’t want to think about him anymore. He wasn’t the only one who had torn out living flesh so as not to fall to the bottom of a pit, with no means of climbing back up. There were others . . . Maybe I was one of them. We’d taken a path not really knowing where it would lead, not knowing how long it was, and while still on our way, realizing we had taken the wrong road but that it was too late to turn back, every one of us, so as not to be swallowed up by the dark, had started slicing off pieces of our own flesh. "

― Ismail Kadare , Agamemnon's Daughter: A Novella and Stories