Think about it this way--our actions speak truth our words cannot.
When you feel weak in spirit, think about the agreements you made with yourself about how to live an honourable life. We all have them, but unfortunately the contracts are often written in invisible ink when they should be signed in blood.
Charlie started crying, in the convulsive, soundless way that men do. "Don't you understand," he said after composing himself, "that's a funeral dirge for the first wave." We all thought about that, the many lives lost before we even opened our eyes ...
New ideas leave the old ones shaking in their shoes, don't they?
Why don't you go to bed for a bit, Glory?" suggested Robert. "It's been a hell of a war." It's been a hell of a war, he said. I'll never forget it.
Did if feel like jumping off a cliff when he kissed you? I imagine it did.
Tonight started innocently enough. Most terrible things do, right?
If I shut everything else out and filled the room with memories, the past could become the present, and I could live there, with him. I would never leave.
We're all so multifaceted, and it's impossible to see all the sides at once.
We don't need to have the answers. We'll never have them. They'll come and go and change. And all we can do is figure out the best way to behave when life comes at us. Even if society says it isn't right. Right is so subjective, after all.
When you put your whole heart in something you risk just that. Your whole heart. It's a high roller's type of gamble. I can tell by your letters that you love with your whole heart.
There is no reason for him to be in a strange land, the grim reaper holding him close, saying, "Yes, today is the day," or "No, not yet.
Silence is a powerful tool.
This war. It's stolen our peace. It's stolen our tomorrows as well as our yesterdays.
We are always waiting, aren't we? All in a state of hesitation and held breath. Sometimes it's glorious like a storm at the end of a hot day.
To put it bluntly, he could die. Any moment. But so could Robert and Sal and Toby. At least I am here with him. He's not alone. Our other boys? They are alone out there without us.
That is my job, right? To comfort him. To keep the portrait of what he left behind intact. Isn't that a woman's duty during wartime?
If I'm in this war, too, then I should be upset. You know I'm not the type to think collecting bacon grease and scrap metal will keep anyone from dying. How about you give me the words so you don't have to hold them in? It's the least I can do.
