It was a kind of magic:; a sacrifice that somehow stilled the dark gods that hunted for his soul.

He is dead...because we have forgotten him.

We don't think like other children, do we...? We don't talk like other children. And above all, we don't write like other children.

So he believed. Believed, but the seed of doubt was there, and it stayed, and every now and then sent out a little root. It changed everything, to have that se…

No, gentlemen, if I am to be shot at, I want no man to be in the way of the bullet.

Now days battles are just sort of a 'You shoot up my town and I'll shoot up yours.' They say that Americans don't play fair. They shoot 'em up all the time. I …

[His reply to the chairman's other stock question, which had previously never failed to embarrass the claimant: 'Tell me, Mr. Strachey, what would you do if yo…