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.

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

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.

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.

The front-line soldier wants it to be got over by the physical process of his destroying enough Germans to end it. He is truly at war. The rest of us, no matter how hard we work, are not.

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

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