Nietsche said, "You have heard that a good cause justifies any war,
but I say unto you that a good war justifies any cause."

A man was walking alone over a plain so desolate that, if you have
never seen it, the mere word desolation could never convey to you the
melancholy surroundings that mourned about this man on his lonely
walk. Far off a vista of trees followed a cheerless road all dead as
mourners suddenly stricken dead in some funereal procession. By this
road he had come; but when he had reached a certain point he turned
from the road at once, branching away to the left, led by a line of
bushes that may once have been a lane. For some while his feet had
rustled through long neglected grass; sometimes he lifted them up to
step over a telephone wire that lolled over old entanglements and
bushes; often he came to rusty strands of barbed wire and walked
through them where they had been cut, perhaps years ago, by huge
shells; then his feet hissed on through the grass again, dead grass
that had hissed about his boots all through the afternoon.

Once he sat down to rest on the edge of a crater, weary with such
walking as he had never seen before; and after he had stayed there a
little while a cat that seemed to have its home in that wild place
started suddenly up and leaped away over the weeds. It seemed an
animal totally wild, and utterly afraid of man.

Grey bare hills surrounded the waste: a partridge called far off:
evening was drawing in. He rose wearily, and yet with a certain
fervour, as one that pursues With devotion a lamentable quest.
Looking round him as he left his resting-place he saw a cabbage or
two that after some while had come back to what was a field and had
sprouted on the edge of a shell-hole. A yellowing convolvulus climbed