In wartime, she thought to herself, you don’t call a death murder.

A chap’s impending death has a way of focusing the mind.


Once they have dedicated themselves to a cause, women will fight to the end for it.

There was something unbearable about the damp, dark earth closing over a coffin and the still, empty flesh that was inside. She had attended a hundred funerals, but when you really loved someone there was something too final about a burial. Something brutal.

I am the Angel of Death to any kind of plant.