I try for a poetic language that says, This is who we are, where we have been, where we are. This is where we must go. And this is what we must do.
“In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.”
“Children rarely want to know who their parents were before they were parents, and when age finally stirs their curiosity, there is no parent left to tell them.”