There, conspicuous in the light of the conflagration, lay the dead body of a woman__he white face turned upward, the hands thrown out and clutched full of grass, the clothing deranged, the long dark hair in tangles and full of clotted blood. The greater part of the forehead was torn away, and from the jagged hole the brain protruded, overflowing the temple, a frothy mass of gray, crowned with clusters of crimson bubbles__he work of a shell.The child moved his little hands, making wild, uncertain gestures. He uttered a series of inarticulate and indescribable cries__omething between the chattering of an ape and the gobbling of a turkey__ startling, soulless, unholy sound, the language of a devil. The child was a deaf mute.Then he stood motionless, with quivering lips, looking down upon the wreck.
It is a joyous thing, war. _You love your comrade so much in war. _When you see that your quarrel is just, and your blood is fighting well, tears rise to your eyes. A great sweet feeling of loyalty and of pity fills your heart on seeing your friend so valiantly exposing his body. _And then your are prepared to go and live or die with him, and for love not to abandon him. _And out of that, there arises such a delectation, that he who has not experienced it is not fit to say what delight is. _Do you think that a man who does that fears death? _Not at all, for he feels so strengthened, so elated, that he does not know where he is. _Truly he is afraid of nothing.
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It is a joyous thing, war. _You love your comrade so much in war. _When you see that your quarrel is just, and your blood is fighting well, tears rise to your eyes. A great sweet feeling of loyalty and of pity fills your heart on seeing your friend so valiantly exposing his body. _And then your are prepared to go and live or die with him, and for love not to abandon him. _And out of that, there arises such a delectation, that he who has not experienced it is not fit to say what delight is. _Do you think that a man who does that fears death? _Not at all, for he feels so strengthened, so elated, that he does not know where he is. _Truly he is afraid of nothing.
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The pinnacle of human consciousness must be the rejection of unhealthy competition, war and violence.
Max?' he asked.'Yeah?''...What are you doing?''Shooting people.
I don't care a damn about men who are loyal to the people who pay them, to organizations...I don't think even my country means all that much. There are many countries in our blood, aren't there, but only one person. Would the world be in the mess it is if we were loyal to love and not to countries?
Priests might divide the world into good and bad. In battle there was strong and weak and nothing else.