I was away from the front lines for a while this spring, living with other troops, and considerable fighting took place while I was gone. When I got ready to return to my old friends at the front I wondered if I would sense any change in them.

Somebody said that carrier pilots were the best in the world, and they must be or there wouldn't be any of them left alive.

I try not to take any foolish chances, but there's just no way to play it completely safe and still do your job.

One of the parodoxes of war is that those in the rear want to get up into the fight, while those in the lines want to get out.

I've been immersed in it too long. My spirit is wobbly and my mind is confused. The hurt has become too great.

All the rest of us - you and me and even the thousands of soldiers behind the lines in Africa - we want terribly yet only academically for the war to get over.

Someday when peace has returned to this odd world I want to come to London again and stand on a certain balcony on a moonlit night and look down upon the peaceful silver curve of the Thames with its dark bridges.