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By: Annie Mao
"If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie" (68-69).
"All these different voices. Not human voices, though. Because it's the mountains. Follow me?" (74).
"He stepped back and shot it through the right front knee.... He shot it in the hindquarters and in the little hump at its back. He shot it twice in the flanks.... He put the rifle muzzle up against the mouth and shot the mouth away" (78-79).
"War is hell, but that's not the half of it.... War is nasty; War is fun. War is thrilling; war is drudgery. War makes you a man; war makes you dead" (80).
"Jesus Christ, man, I write this beautiful f---in' letter, I slave over it, and what happens? The dumb cooze never writes back" (69).
"... there wasn't a great deal of pity for the baby water buffalo.... All the while the baby buffalo was silent.... The rest of us stood in a ragged circle around the baby buffalo.... Somebody kicked the baby buffalo" (79).
"... dark like brilliant red ribbons... cool, impassive moon... fluid symmetries of troops... harmonies of sound and shape... great sheets of metal-fire streaming down... purply orange glow of napalm, the rockets' red glare" (80-81).
"Right spills over into wrong. Order blends into chaos, love into hate, ugliness into beauty, law into anarchy, civility into savagery" (82).