It seemed to me that the crazy crowded bright hot shelter was a beautiful place. I thought, 'This is the second battlefield. The battle now is going on over the helpless bodies of these men. it is we who are doing the fighting now, with their real enemies.'

It was my business to know which of the wounded could wait and which could not. I had to decide for myself. There was no one to tell me. If I made any mistakes, some would die on their stretchers on the floor under my eye who would not need have died.

we send our men to the war again and again, just as long as they will stand it; just until they are dead, and then we throw them into the ground.

this struggle to save men's lives, by doing small things accurately at the right moment-without fuss, without noise, without sign of fatigue or hurry, or nervousness or despair.

Their faces were old and their clothes were old and their bodies were old, and the spirit in them was old. There was no youth in any one of them.

They moves laboriously through the dust, as if they were dragging chains. But there was no sound from them save the dull sound of their feet tramping the road.

It is one's duty to look at the paper. It is one's duty to look at the man. It is one's duty to find out where he has come from and where he is going.

stupefied, patient, hopeless eyes, how boring it is to be a hero.

Pity is exhaustible. What a terrible discovery! If one ceases for one instant to pity Mr. Wicks he becomes an awful bore.

I blushed with horror and responsibility, standing there watching six hungry men pretending to be philosophers.