"That’s the thing about death though, you see it coming, or feel it sticking its nose in and you want to do something. Even more you want to get the fuck out of the room where it’s happening and barring that, if the damn black cape is going to come you want it to stop mucking about and get to it already. You don’t want to watch anyone or anything suffer. Suffering is the worst of it. Yet, life wants life."
"The tough had a strong build, he might linger for hours with nothing but a stray bottle of rum or gin somewhere around the cabin to dull his agony. The rags hadn’t been over the wound for more than a few minutes and they were already soaked through. The tough was holding a hand out, asking for his father, or his brother, or both. I stopped bothering to squeeze painfully at his wet side and came around to take his hand in mine. I wasn’t going to start baby talking or pretending to be whatever family member he thought I might be. I just held his hand. That may not seem like much but it’s a hell of a lot more than most got during the war, more than the rest of that crew got in the coming hours. No one wants to die alone, yet it’s the one thing every man must do."
