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.

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

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

About every two minutes a new wave of planes would be over. The motors seemed to grind rather than roar, and to have an angry pulsation like a bee buzzing in blind fury.

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 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.

Some day I'd like to cover a war in a country as ugly as war itself.