Sometimes, in the trenches, you get the sense of something, ancient. One trench we held, it had skulls in the side, embedded, like mushrooms. It was actually easier to believe they were men from Marlborough's army, than to think they'd been alive a year ago. It was as if all the other wars had distilled themselves into this war, and that made it something you almost can't challenge. It's like a very deep voice, saying; 'Run along, little man, be glad you've survived

You know you're walking around with a mask on, and you desperately want to take it off and you can't because everybody else thinks it's your face.

Culturally, the First World War is the war that stands in for other wars.

Murder is only killing in the wrong place.

Half the world's work is done by hopeless neurotics.

A society that devours its own young deserves no automatic or unquestioning allegiance.

The past is a palimpsest. Early memories are always obscured by accumulations of later knowledge.