Southern women like their men religious and a little mad.
Perhaps it was only that when you try to put it into words you cannot express it truly, it never sounds as you dream it.
There's nothing so much like a god on earth as a General on a battlefield.
It rained all that night. The next day was Saturday, the Fourth of July.
Why do there have to be men like that, men who enjoy another man's dying?
A man who has been shot at is a new realist, and what do you say to a realist when the war is a war of ideals?