War is not two great armies meeting in the clash and frenzy of battle. War is a boy being carried on a stretcher, looking up at God’s blue sky with bewildered eyes that are soon to close; war is a woman carrying a child that has been injured by a shell; war is spirited horses tied in burning buildings and waiting for death; war is the flower of a race, battered, hungry, bleeding, up to its knees in filthy water; war is an old woman burning a candle before the Mater Dolorsa for the son she has given.

It takes a good many years and some pretty hard knocks to make people tolerant.

I suppose that we are only young, Chris, so long as we can forget. After that we merely remember!

pretense is the oil that lubricates society.

it is axiomatic with most writing people that there are no such things as perfect conditions for work.

[On fishing:] Greatest rest in the world for the brain.

These are times of action. Men think and then act; sometimes, indeed, they simply act.