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it came upon me freshly how the secret of uniform was to make a crowd solid, dignified, impersonal: to give it the singleness and tautness of an upstanding man. This death's livery which walled its bearers from ordinary life, was sign that they had sold their wills and bodies to the State: and contracted themselves into a service not the less abject for that its beginning was voluntary.

Always in working I had tried to serve, for the scrutiny of leading was too prominent. Subjection to order achieved economy of thought, the painful, and was a cold-storage for character and Will, leading painlessly to the oblivion of activity. It was a part of my failure never to have found a chief to use me. All of them, through incapacity or timidity or liking, allowed me too free a hand; as if they could not see t

So I distrusted experts, who were often intelligences confined within high walls, knowing indeed every paving-stone of their prison courts: while I might know from what quarry the stones were hewn and what wages the mason earned.

A battle might be thrilling at the moment for generals, but usually their imagination played too vividly beforehand, and made the reality seem sham; so quiet and unimportant that they ranged about looking for its fancied core.

Marshall was very patient; and two or three of them would sit attentive by his bedside, from the first daylight, waiting to continue his education as soon as he became conscious.

The men were often gallant fighters, but their generals as often gave away in stupidity what they had gained in ignorance.

Many armies had been voluntarily enlisted: few served voluntarily.

These united forces of the past and the future were so strong that the city almost failed to have a present.

On occasions like this Death justified himself and was cheap.

However, there was no measuring the stupidity of the Turkish Army; a point which helped us now and again, and harmed us constantly, for we could not avoid despising them for it (Arabs being a race gifted with uncommon quickness of mind, and over-valuing it) and an army suffered when unable to yield honour to the enemy.

'Your good and my good, perhaps they are different, and either forced good or forced evil will make a people cry with pain.'

So far a pure disappointment.

This essay was long enough to be one of the three books.

I've finally got to the book.

Finally finished book one. He seems to consist of two persons: a brilliant sceptic and a stuffy martinet—a fabulous combination.