Between Skin And Skin, There Is Only

The Battle Was Over. Our Casualties Were Some Thirteen Thousand Killed--thirteen Thousand Minds, Memories, Loves, Sensations, Worlds, Universes--because The Human Mind Is More A Universe Than The Universe Itself--and All For A Few Hundred Yards Of Useless Mud.

I Will Tell You What War Is. War Is A Psychosis Caused By An Inability To See Relationships. Our Relationship With Our Fellowmen. Our Relationship With Our Economic And Historical Situation. And Above All Our Relationship To Nothingness, To Death.

He Knew The World And Its Absurdities As Only An Intelligent Irishman Can; Which Is To Say That Where His Knowledge Or Memory Failed Him, His Imagination Was Always Ready To Fill The Gap.

We Can Sometimes Recognize The Looks Of A Century Ago On A Modern Face; But Never Those Of A Century To Come.

I Knew Words Were Like Chains, They Held Me Back . . . The Act Of Description Taints The Description.