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To him who, though by no means near the end, is yet advancing, He is the way; to him who has put off all that is dead He is the life.

I don't think I would have written a combat novel if I had just had peacetime military training. I think, in fact, I probably would have remained a poet and just written a short story every now and then.

This bloody past suggests to us that enemies cease hostilities only when they are battered enough to acknowledge that there is no hope in victory - and thus that further resistance means only useless sacrifice.

Writing a novel is actually searching for victims. As I write I keep looking for casualties. The stories uncover the casualties.

He that fights and runs away, May turn and fight another day; But he that is in battle slain, Will never rise to fight again.

In the extremity of war, character is revealed.

In reality, it si more fruitful to wound than to kill. While the dead man lies still, counting only one man less, the wounded man is a progressive drain upon his side.

There is no glory in war, yet from the blackness of its history, there emerge vivid colours of human character and courage. Those who risked their lives to help their friends.

The reason that war is such a fascinating subject for writers is because it's a revealer. Put a bunch of people in an adrenaline-fuelled, life-or-death situation and their fundamental behaviours are exposed, the scrim is taken away and the motivations behind each personality come out to play.

Killing is the payoff of war.