We were not destined to survive. The fact is, we were not destined at all. The war would take what it could get.

I've come to accept that parts of life are constant, that just because something happens on two different days doesn't make it a goddamn miracle.

I didn't want to smile and say thanks. Didn't want to pretend I'd done anything except survive

Nothing is more isolating than having a particular history.

I can't envision an honest war novel that left war in a positive light.

I understood that 'The Yellow Birds' would be a peculiar representation of the experience of being at war. I intended it to be so.