(Wherein we try to quote Erich Marie Remarque from memory, for nights when such words will be needed):

A clear voice utters words that bring me peace, to me, in big boots, belt, and knapsack, taking the road that lies before me under the high heaven, quickly forgetting and seldom sorrowful, for ever pressing on under the wide night sky.

A clear voice, and if anyone were to caress him he would hardly understand, marching with the big boots and the shut heart, who marches because he is wearing big boots, and has forgotten all else but marching.

Beyond the skyline is a country with flowers lying so still he would like to weep.