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

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

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.

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.

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 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.

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.