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.

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

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.

I've been immersed in it too long. My spirit is wobbly and my mind is confused. The hurt has become too great.

War makes strange giant creatures out of us little routine men who inhabit the earth.

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.

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.