The Worst Thing About War

Travel Sharpens The Senses. Abroad One Feels, Sees And Hears Things In An Abnormal Way.

If I Didn't Have Writing, I'd Be Running Down The Street Hurling Grenades In People's Faces.

There Is No Apocalypse.

I Find Nothing More Depressing Than Optimism.

Today The Somme Is A Peaceful But Sullen Place, Unforgetting And Unforgiving. ... To Wander Now Over The Fields Destined To Extrude Their Rusty Metal Fragments For Centuries Is To Appreciate In The Most Intimate Way The Permanent Reverberations Of July, 1916. When The Air Is Damp You Can Smell Rusted Iron Everywhere, Even Though You See Only Wheat And Barley.