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.
They know, not only everything that is contained in it, but all the rest that can never be written.
To those who find these impressions confused, I would say that they are fragments of a great confusion. Any attempt to reduce them to order would require artifice on my part and would falsify them. To those on the other hand who find them unbearably plain, I would say that I have blurred the bare horror of the facts and softened the reality in spite of myself, not because I wished to do so, but because I was incapable of a nearer approach to the truth.
If one did not forget the hospital when one leaves it, life wouldn't be very nice. From pillar to post.
I used to think, "It is awful to die." But who knows what compliance the years will bring? What is awful is to die young.
They are going off to the little convalescent hospitals, they are going away to be treated like men; and I must laugh and shake hands and not dream of adding, "Perhaps we shall see you back again."
Now a lull and now a bombardment; again a lull, and then batter, batter, and the windows tremble. Is the lull when they go over the top? I can only think of death to-night.
The pain of one creature cannot continue to have a meaning for another. It is almost impossible to nurse a man well whose pain you do not imagine. A deadlock!
Can one grow used to death? It is unsafe to think of this. For if death becomes cheap it is the watcher, not the dying, who is poisoned.
I am without convictions, antipathies, prejudices, reflections. I only work and watch, watch.