All Pain Is The Same. Only The

I Wanted Something That I Could Look Back On And Say, Yes, You Were Fighting Too, You Burned To Be Alive, And Whatever Failure Or Accident Of Nature Caused You To Be Killed Could Be Explained By Something Other Than The Fact That I'd Missed Your Giving Up.

As Human Beings, We Have The Blessing And The Curse That We're Able To Adapt To Almost Anything. No Matter How Extreme The Circumstances You're In, They Become Normal.

But I Remember Being Told That The Truth Does Not Depend On Being Believed.

I Can't Envision An Honest War Novel That Left War In A Positive Light.

The Details Of The World In Which We Live Are Always Secondary To The Fact That We Must Live In Them.