There's a kind of permission for war which can be given only by the world s mood and atmosphere, the feel of its pulse. It would be madness to undertake a war without that permission.

Who would prefer peace to the glory of hunger and thirst, of wading through mud, and dying in the service of one's country?

Women have no sense of the abstract-a woman admiring the sky is a woman caressing the sky. In a woman's mind beauty is something she needs to touch.

A wife loves out of duty, and duty leads to constraint, and constraint kills desire.