During War We Imprison The

There's A Kind Of Permission For War Which Can Be Given Only By The World's Mood And Atmosphere, The Feel Of Its Pulse. It Would Be Madness To Undertake A War Without That Permission.

A Man's Name, Title, And Rank Are Artificial And Impermanent; They Do Nothing To Reveal What He Really Is, Even To Himself.

In War-time A Man Is Called A Hero. It Doesn't Make Him Any Braver, And He Runs For His Life. But At Least It's A Hero Who Is Running Away.

Those Who Weep Recover More Quickly Than Those Who Smile.

In Times Of Death And Famine, Reason Is On The Side Of The Priests-who Have Their Own Kind Of Logic Which Cries For Miracles And, On Occasion, Invents Them.