For I now realize that what overcame me that evening was a sudden awareness of the power of intuition, the supra-logic that cuts out all routine processes of thought and leaps straight from problem to answer.
Before an attack, the platoon pools all its available cash and the survivors divide it up afterwards. Those who are killed can't complain, the wounded would have given far more than that to escape as they have, and the unwounded regard the money as a consolation prize for still being here.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects the harsh realities of war and the bittersweet nature of survival.
In this quote, Robert Graves captures the grim logic of survival in the context of warfare. The act of pooling resources before an attack illustrates the communal bonding that occurs in life-or-death situations, where material possessions become secondary to the instinct of survival. It starkly conveys that those lost in battle have no opportunity to voice their grievances, while the survivors receive a token of consolation that pales in comparison to the trauma and sacrifices they endure.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
During a memorial speech for fallen soldiers, this quote can highlight the shared experience of loss and survival.
More from Robert Graves
All quotes →To recommend a monarchy on account of the prosperity it gives the provinces seems to me like recommending that a man should have liberty to treat his children as slaves, if at the same time he treats his slaves with reasonable consideration.
A banker warned the British poet Robert Graves that one could not grow rich writing poetry. He replied that if there was no money in poetry, there was certainly no poetry in money, and so it was all even.
Poetry began in the matriarchal age, and derives its magic from the moon, not from the sun. No poet can hope to understand the nature of poetry unless he has had a vision of the Naked King crucified to the lopped oak, and watched the dancers, red-eyed from the acrid smoke of the sacrificial fires, stamping out the measure of the dance, their bodies bent uncouthly forward, with a monotonous chant of "Kill! kill! kill!" and "Blood! blood! blood!
No poem is worth anything unless it starts from a poetic trance, out of which you can be wakened by interruption as from a dream. In fact, it is the same thing.
Never use the word 'audience.' The very idea of a public, unless the poet is writing for money, seems wrong to me. Poets don't have an 'audience'. They're talking to a single person all the time.
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Coffee is a way of stealing time that should by rights belong to your older self.
I realized it for the first time in my life: there is nothing but mystery in the world, how it hides behind the fabric of our poor, browbeat days, shining brightly, and we don't even know it.
I maintain that two and two would continue to make four, in spite of the whine of the amateur for three, or the cry of the critic for five.
By whomsoever no evil is done in deed, or word, or thought, him I call a Brahmin (holy man) who is guarded in these three.
In this very real world, good doesn't drive out evil. Evil doesn't drive out good. But the energetic displaces the passive.
Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows - then let your heart say in silence, "God rests in reason." And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky, - then let your heart say in awe, "God moves in passion.