Fabled by the daughters of memory. And yet it was in some way if not as memory fabled it. A phrase then if impatience, thud blakes wings of excess. I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and topping masonry, and time one livid final flame. What's left us then?
-James Joyce "Ulysses"

You have never known what war is," My father said, as I tried to understand.