All that is neither madness, tenderness, not perversity, it is indifference. Generals, who were enemies yesterday dine together to-day, their boots upon their dead burglars get medals murderers make everyone laugh. Husbands who turn their wives’ lovers to their own account, countries that throttle each other after having been allied. His torso was decked in a military uniform and covered with decorations of the colonial wars. Jâli looked down: a legless, armless man was playing a clarinet with his nostrils. He made the acquaintance of the Occident through its hovels and its sinks of vice. Paul Morand: You did not believe in the war Paul Morand: The War for Righteousness ends in the burying of moral sense Paul Morand: Nations never lay down their arms death which is still combative Anti-war essays, poems, short stories and literary excerpts
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