Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold.
All the war-propaganda, all the screaming and lies and hatred, comes invariably from people who are not fighting.
Such things did not appear to horrify her. She did not feel the abyss opening beneath her feet at the thought of lies becoming truths.
When a novel lacks the indefinable, unmistakable thing we call beauty, one looks in it for sound delineation of character, or humour of situation, or verbal wit.
The essential act of war is destruction, not necessarily of human lives, but of the products of human labour. War is a way of shattering to pieces, or pouring into the stratosphere, or sinking in the depths of the sea, materials which might otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable, and hence, in the long run, too intelligent.
When war is continuous there is no such thing as military necessity. Technical.