Once you're alive, you can't ever be dead.

Inside I feel much like a 12-year-old or a 17-year-old who knows big words.

We are fascinated, all of us, by the implacable otherness of others. And we wish to penetrate by hypothesis, by daydream, by scientific investigation those leaden walls that encase the human spirit, that define it and guard it and hold it forever inaccessible.

Once you're alive, you can't ever be dead.

But in a story, which is a kind of dreaming, the dead sometimes smile and sit up and return to the world.

It was my view then, and still is, that you don't make war without knowing why. Knowledge of course, is always imperfect, but it seemed to me that when a nation goes to war it must have reasonable confidence in the justice and imperative of its cause. You can't fix your mistakes. Once people are dead, you can't make them undead.

Men killed, and died, because they were embarrassed not to.