Where would be the merit if heroes were never afraid? - Alphonse Daudet

Distrust the man who smiles before he speaks.

At fifteen years, twenty at most, one has "come from the press".

It is clever the way death reaps and gathers its harvests, but what somber harvests. Whole generations do not fall at once; that would be too sad, too visible. But bit by bit. The meadow is attacked on several sides at the same time. One day, one will go; the other, some time after; one must reflect, glance about oneself to notice the empty spaces, the vast contemporary killing.