Chickenshit can be recognized instantly because it never has anything to do with winning the war.

If I didn't have writing, I'd be running down the street hurling grenades in people's faces.

If truth is the main casualty in war, ambiguity is another.

Travel at its truest is thus an ironic experience.

All the pathos and irony of leaving one's youth behind is thus implicit in every joyous moment of travel: one knows that the first joy can never be recovered, and the wise traveller learns not to repeat successes but tries new places all the time.

I am working on a book urging the beating to death of baby whales using the dead bodies of baby seals.

Every war is ironic because every war is worse than expected. Every war constitutes an irony of situation because its means are so melodramatically disproportionate to its presumed ends.