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

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

Travel at its truest is thus an ironic experience.

The wise traveler learns not to repeat successes but tries new places all the time.

Wars damage the civilian society as much as they damage the enemy. Soldiers never get over it.

Travel at its truest is thus an ironic experience, and the best travellers . . . seem to be those able to hold two or three inconsistent ideas in their minds at the same time, or able to regard themselves as at once serious persons and clowns.

To get home you had to end the war. To end the war was the reason you fought it. The only reason.