The red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer. — Stephen Crane

The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. As the landscape changed from brown to green, the army awakened, and began to tremble with eagerness at the noise of rumors.

He had fought like a pagan who defends his religion.

He had been to touch the great death, and found that, after all, it was but the great death. He was a man.