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And those of us who would normally bemoan our sagging visages on land-Every year it gets harder and harder to keep up the faceglide serenely through the water, safe in our knowledge that we are nothing more than a blurry peripheral shape glimpsed in passing through the foggy tinted goggles of the swimmer in the next lane

Written like a real author

The town could not talk, and would not listen.
"How'd you like to hear about the war?" he might have asked, but the place could only blink and shrug. It had no memory, therefore no guilt.
The taxes got paid and the votes got counted and the agencies of government did their work briskly and politely. It was a brisk, polite town. It did not know shit about shit, and did not care to know.

You hate it yes, but your eyes don’t

Wasn’t fair to the baby water buffalo

And he called it a baby

A true war story is never moral. It
does not instruct, nor encourage
virtue, nor suggest models of proper
human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted or feel some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie

They carried the soldier's greatest fear, which was the fear of blushing. Men killed, and died, because they were embarrassed not to. It was what had brought them to the war in the first place, nothing positive, no dreams of glory or honor, just to avoid the blush of dishonor. They died so as not to die of embarrassment.

Drugs are bad

“It would help if I were able to feel guilty. But the end of innocence is also the end of guilt.”

Snow, warm lights, cozy fires, love, warm bodies huddled against the cold air, mountains everywhere. Beautiful

Didn’t see that coming