Oh, you know. The lingering sensation that in pursuit of my own exacting goals and objectives I might not have been as generous in spirit as I could have been with regard to the needs and dreams of the people I cared most about or for whom I was emotionally responsible.
There in the sweet sacking smell of the mail bags he understood that he was dying, and it pleased him that he was going in the company of so many soft words home.
There was something about the star, rising above the stable, that still pulled a crowd in from the fields.
It was not warm and not cold. There was no wind and the sky was very low and grey but it wasn’t raining. It was like they’d completely run out of weather.
How could he even attempt it, after eight days and nights of bombing? And yet this is when he must write: now, in the lull between attacks... War made one do everything when one wasn’t at all ready. Dying, yes, but also living.
Of course the children had exchanged labels with one another the second her back was turned. They were only human, even if they hadn’t yet made the effort to become tall.
The eye may be an obligate scout but the heart is not an incurable folllower.
It was how mothers carried on, after all, with a glint in the eye that implied a sure clairvoyance and also that it was your turn to talk. This was the velvet rope mothers offered: enough silence to make a noose with. Mary.
You know what worries me about the enemy? It’s the violence. It is almost as if he thinks he can solve every problem this way.
I was hoping my life might make more sense from a great height.
We are a nation of glorious cowards, ready to battle any evil but our own.” Her.
Palmer? Would you bring us a little brandy?” Back the pewter tray came, with glasses and decanters. Palmer set it down on the occasional table and let a measure of syrup into each of two glasses. He scalped an orange and placed a shaving of peel in each glass. These he compressed with a pestle sufficiently to release their oils but not to macerate them. He added a dash of bitters and a measure of brandy to each glass, finishing with ice.
You live in a world of machines and you dream of things with beating hearts. We dream of machines, because we see where beating hearts have left us.
I thought there’d be some black people.” “Hitler will only fight them in separate units. He’s a snob.
When the hour had come for the war to take him away, that had been the first and last moment she had known without doubt that she loved him. One knew how one felt only when things ended. And.
He stepped on the unexploded artillery shell, and it tore him apart.
I want to be a journalist again. I want to make a difference in the world.
Sometimes I feel as lonely as the Queen of England.
How well it had suited me, that absolute license to march up to evildoers and demand who, what, where, when and why?
Women share everything. It’s the blessing we received when we turned down muscles and mustaches.” He.