There is a point at which curiosity becomes unbearable, when it becomes an obsession, like hunger.

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.

What a tragedy it was that the only thing age could offer to youth was its own experience, and that the experiences of others were never profitable.

there comes a time when ambition ceases to burn, or romance to stir, and the highest cry of the human heart is for peace.

Girls inevitably grew into women, but something of the boy persisted in every man.

I believe that the matter is automatically self-regulating; that those women who prefer the home and have an ability for it will eventually return to it; that others, like myself, will compromise; and that still others, temperamentally unfitted for it, will remain in the world to add to its productivity.

The one pleasure that never palls is the pleasure of not going to church.