Man, it seemed, had been created to jab the life out of Germans.

For it is humanly certain that most of us remember very little of what we have read. To open almost any book a second time is to be reminded that we had forgotten well-nigh everything that the writer told us. Parting from the narrator and his narrative, we retain only a fading impression; and he, as it were, takes the book away from us and tucks it under his arm.

I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers.

EVERYONE suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight. Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away ... O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.

In me the tiger sniffs the rose.

Man, it seemed, had been created to jab the life out of Germans.

And the wind upon its way whispered the boughs of May, And touched the nodding peony flowers to bid them waken.