For a lifetime I had bathed with becoming regularity, and thought the world would come to an end unless I changed my socks every day. But in Africa I sometimes went without a bath for two months, and I went two weeks at a time without even changing my socks. Oddly enough, it didn't seem to make much difference.

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.

For me war has become a flat, black depression without highlights, a revulsion of the mind and an exhaustion of the spirit.

It was a night when London was ringed and stabbed with fire.

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

If I can just see the European war out I think I might feel justified in quitting the war.

Thoughts are wonderful things, that they can bring two people, so far apart, into harmony and understanding for even a little while.