Only rarely do I read a paragraph in fiction that strikes me as so good that I must have it, that it rises to the level of poetry. One such excerpt comes from A Soldier of the Great War, by the gifted Mark Helprin --
. . . for soldiers who have been blooded are soldiers forever. They never fit in. Even when they finally settle down, the settling is tenuous, for when they close their eyes they see their comrades who have fallen. That they cannot forget, that they do not forget, that they never allow themselves to heal completely, is their way of expressing their love for friends who have perished. And they will not change, because they have become what they have become to keep the fallen alive.
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