History simply affords too little evidence that anyone’s individual protest is of any use. Protest that endures, I think, is moved by a hope far more modest than that of public success: namely, the hope of preserving qualities in one’s own heart and spirit that would be destroyed by acquiescence.

When the fears hit, I am always vaguely comforted that no matter what happens in the world, I will still have opportunities to act with love, and that’s the least and the best anyone at any time can do.