There is no sense in the struggle, but there is no choice but to struggle.

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

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

In their eyes as they pass is not hatred, not excitement, not despair, not the tonic of their victory - there is just the simple expression of being here as though they had been here doing this forever, and nothing else.

Say what you will, nothing can make a complete soldier except battle experience.

But to the fighting soldier that phase of the war is behind. It was left behind after his first battle. His blood is up. He is fighting for his life, and killing now for him is as much a profession as writing is for me.

I love the infantry because they are the underdogs. They are the mud-rain-frost-and-wind boys. They have no comforts, and they even learn to live without the necessities. And in the end they are the guys that wars can't be won without.