Life Is A Disease, Brother, And Death

Our Thoughts Are Clay, They Are Moulded With The Changes Of The Days;--when We Are Resting They Are Good; Under Fire, They Are Dead. Fields Of Craters Within And Without.

To Me The Front Is A Mysterious Whirlpool. Though I Am In Still Water Far Away From Its Centre, I Feel The Whirl Of The Vortex Sucking Me Slowly, Irresistibly, Inescapably Into Itself.

I Am No Longer A Shuddering Speck Of Existence, Alone In The Darkness;--i Belong To Them And They To Me; We All Share The Same Fear And The Same Life...i Could Bury My Face In Them, In These Voices, These Words That Have Saved Me And Will Stand By Me.

It Is Just As Much A Matter Of Chance That I Am Still Alive As That I Might Have Been Hit. In A Bomb-proof Dug-out I May Be Smashed To Atoms And In The Open May Survive Ten Hour's Bombardment Unscratched. No Soldier Outlives A Thousand Chances. But Every Soldier Believes In Chance And Trusts His Luck.

What Comfort There Is In The Skin Of Someone You Love!