It's Extremely Hard For Athletes To Accept

And Thus Love Makes Fools Of Us All.

Would We Be The Heroes Or The Cowards Of The Piece? Would We Follow Orders Or Stick To Our Principles, If Those Two Things Ever Conflicted? Would We Be The Brave Ones Who Still Found The Capacity For Love - And For Laughter - Even While We Were Terrified?

At This Point In Time The War [ Wwii] Is Close Enough To Still Feel Hotly Personal To A Writer, Yet Far Enough Away So That Jingoism And Heroics Are No Longer Required.

Sad Words Are Just Another Beauty. A Sad Story Means, This Storyteller Is Alive

When I Reached Fort Binjemma, For Example, Where My Grandfather Was Stationed For A While, The Whole Victorian Fort Was Decaying. Barbed Wire Surrounded It, Spray Paint On The Ancient Walls Claimed It As Private Property, And The Moat Where My Grandfather And His Men Had Grown Crops - In Desperation As The Siege's Hunger Bit - Was Completely Overgrown With Bushes And Trees.