I Used To Write Letters To The

Then Somebody Suggested I Should Write About The War, And I Said I Didn't Know Anything About The War. I Did Not Understand Anything About It. I Didn't See How I Could Write It

What The Trees Can Do Handsomely-greening And Flowering, Fading And Then The Falling Of Leaves-human Beings Cannot Do With Dignity, Let Alone Without Pain.

The English Don't Go In For Imagination: Imagination Is Considered To Be Improper If Not Downright Alarmist.

A Broken Heart Is Such A Shabby Thing, Like Poverty And Failure And The Incurable Diseases Which Are Also Deforming. I Hate It And Am Ashamed Of It, And I Must Somehow Repair This Heart And Put It Back Into Its Normal Condition, As A Tough Somewhat Scarred But Operating Organ.

I Followed The War Wherever I Could Reach It.