In every trade save war men of talent and vigor prosper. In war they die.
This country will kill you in a heartbeat and still people love it.
The things that I loved were very frail. Very fragile. I didn't know that. I thought they were indestructible. They weren't.
Each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins.
Words pale and lose their savor while pain is always new.
The night sky lies so sprent with stars that there is scarcely space of black at all and they fall all night in bitter arcs and it is so that their numbers are no less.