They were probably scared of him and so they did what boys do around any object of fear: they went up close, pointed a finger, gave it a nickname, and masked their terror with roaring laughter.
They all lived so steeped in fear that the losses they had yet to suffer had already consumed them.
To Ejinar that cannonball was a monster with a will of its own. It showed him what war was: not a battery that exploded and sent matchstick soldiers fleeing, but a dragon that breathed hot fire on his naked heart.
There was plenty for the eye to feast on, but nothing for the soul. He had a hunger for something that no sky could satisfy. Somewhere on the planet there had to be a different kind of light.
Nature was neither fair nor unfair. Those terms belonged to the world of men.
Your roots aren’t to be found in your childhood so much as in your child. It’s he who provides your link to the world, and home is wherever he is.
Having a child isn’t a deal you strike with life. As I said: a child is a gift. And what remains after a child is gone is the memory of the years it was allowed to live. Not its death
… The women’s song was always the same, as monotonous as the beating of the waves against the beach: loss, loss. The conch offered them no enchantment. When they put their ear to it, all they heard was the echo of their mourning.
We were familiar with the line that separates grief from madness, and we know that sometimes the only way to stay on the right side of it is to scream.
Her grief was a burden so heavy, he came close to collapsing under it, and yet he couldn’t lay it down.
With no other choices open to us, we’d turned our gaze seaward. The oceans were our America: they reached farther than any prairie, untamed as on the first day of creation. Nobody owned them.
That’s the strange thing about a good story. No pleasure if you can’t share it.
Is there anything more heartbreaking than drowning in sight of land? Is there a single one of us who hasn’t at least once felt haunted by the fear of slipping away within sight of a safe haven?
Their eyes persecuted him everywhere, eventually following him all the way into the darkness around his bed and into his dreams, like a madness that threatened to overpower him.
Though I had no respect for Jack Lewis, I respected the hole in his chest. He was dying, and you owe the dying your attention.
As long as our voiced were in harmony, it didn’t matter that our accents were at war.
Now I remembered a captain’s honor and his only duty: to bring his crew back alive.
She still held back her tears, as if subjecting herself to some terrible endurance test.
So you’ve stopped thinking you’re going to die?Oh, I’m more certain of it than ever. But I’ve stopped being scared.