My Top Quotes from the Things They Carried

Former Senator Jim Webb once said, “World War II brought the Greatest Generation together. Vietnam tore the Baby Boomers apart” (AARP). This can be seen as a greater metaphor for the novel The Things They Carried. This is especially prevalent when comparing relationships in the book. While all can agree that war is hell, it is Vietnam that really changed how war was seen through the eyes of the soldiers. In the novel, Curt Lemon represents the classic Greatest Generation attitude; his friendship with Rat Kiley also reflects this. They have a more traditional friendship. However, Mark Fossie and his girlfriend, Mary Anne Bell, represents the polar opposite: the torn apart Baby Boomer generation, living in the entropy of war.

The night air was heavy with silence. Clouds drifted across a calm sky, and a full moon shone in the distance. In a small hut on the outskirts of the valley, an old man lay in bed, awake in the peaceful slumber of the village. His breaths came in rattling gasps, his forehead burned, and his joints felt stiff with pain. He shifted on the blankets, his withered hands clenched in fists as he tried to suppress the wave of bitter memories coming to him. His life had been nothing more than work, loss, tragedy. He remembered all of his hope, his ambition, in his youth, and he smiled bitterly. No one would remember him as the man that he had once hoped he would become. Now, as his breathing became heavier and he felt himself fading on the brink of

Going into a war one expects the normal outcomes of leaving with pride, courage, strength and hopefully alive. Throughout the novel The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien, the reader realizes that leaving war like that is close to impossible. Shame is an ever present emotion and theme within the novel that is very obviously shown in many characters. The feeling of shame can change a person, impacting life forever even before or after the war is over. Believing one could leave a war without the slight feeling of guilt or pain, but only feeling strong and courageous is foolish.

In the story The Things They Carry by Tim O’Brien, you will notice that the author uses things that can be carried as a metaphor for the things that we all carry, even the things we can’t let go. Tim O’Brien uses a lot of different ways to show how hard it is to carry your emotions when you are in a combat situation, but the main way you see it illustrated is through the events that have happened to First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross squad while out on a march. You also will see that each solider must change just so they can survive which means they will end up holding on to a lot of grief, because they will bury it inside themselves.

I used to be proud of who I was. I used to be free, but I’ve fallen, slowly stripped bare of all I was and could have been. I resent them, those who gruesomely ripped me from my haven and shackled me beneath their feet. I resent the world for abandoning me in this hell, leaving me to suffer. I resent who I have become, a puppet, used only for their entertainment. The devil only grows within me, plaguing my mind during the sleepless nights. Feeding images into my mind. Images of their blood splattered across the walls of their beloved blue and red (tent). My teeth sinking into the fatty flesh of their neck. The horror painted on their faces as I gleefully avenge the loss of my sanity. And I detest myself. I loathe the satisfaction that I feel fantasising about their murder. I fear myself, and what I have become under their control. I yearn for the days I spent in my

“The Things They Carried” provides a personal view into the minds of soldiers, and tells us the emotional and psychological costs of war. First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross is stationed in Vietnam in the middle of the war. He seems to be a man in love, or more like a man in love with the idea of a lady named Martha. He ends up changing from a love struck, blind man into a firm, leading soldier. In this story, the characters do the things they do because of desires and motivations.

First came the pride, an overwhelming sense of achievement, an accomplishment due to great ambition, but slowly and enduringly surged a world of guilt and confusion, the conscience which I once thought diminished, began to grow, soon defeating the title and its rewards. Slowly the unforgotten memories from that merciless night overcame me and I succumbed to the incessant and horrific images, the bloody dagger, a lifeless corpse. I wash, I scrub, I tear at the flesh on my hands, trying desperately to cleanse myself of the blood. But the filthy witness remains, stained, never to be removed.

Crumpled newspapers scattered the table like the bones of dead bodies after war. Windows wiped down of memories huddled between oak frames, facing a street with cosy cottages. Single embroidered carpets hugged the floor, covering the marble tiles in delicate silk. A whisper of wind floated in through cracks of the panes of glass, whispering it's songs of misery throughout the house. I breathed in gulps of air, allowing the icy coolness to fill my lungs, and the morning frost creep out. My glistening blue eyes presented purple bags, and my sleek hair was a tangled cobweb. My feet dragged along the stone floor like the walking of the undead. I’d been up all night, searching and seeking for answers.

First came the pride, an overwhelming sense of achievement, an accomplishment due to great ambition, but slowly and enduringly surged a world of guilt and confusion, the conscience which I once thought diminished, began to grow, soon defeating the title and its rewards. Slowly the unforgotten memories from that merciless night overcame me and I succumbed to the incessant and horrific images, the bloody dagger, a lifeless corpse. I wash, I scrub, I tear at the flesh on my hands, trying desperately to cleanse myself of the blood. But the filthy witness remains, stained, never to be removed.

Though she is weak, she struggles. I whisper soothing words to her as I carry her through the woods; if only she could understand that no harm will come to her by my hand. When she goes still, my heart twists in my chest. She has not left this world, I realize, but is staring at me with an intensity that makes the heat of fire seem dull. This is the first day that I have ever held a life in my arms, and it shakes me. Her soul is laid bare before my eyes, and I wish to shelter it from the snowfall. She does not see this, and though my words may be futile, they carry weight.

As the sun’s nutritious rays fuel my body; sweat races down my back and accumulates into the threads of my cotton t-shirt. I peer over my neighborhood park fence and gaze over the spacious scenery. The track field was well in shape, free of small debris and ready for a test run and light jump activities in the sand-pit. Soon enough the high temperature fills my head, leaving me in a state of allusion. Images of my friends and I sporadically unfold in front of me and unto the track; as if being placed in a desert mirage. I feel a sense of peace and eagerness surge through my body, while the images continue to appear. Then, a whisper comes into the mix saying some sort of gibberish. Stepping a bit more cautiously then I regularly would I walked

The sun broke through the grey and breathed life into the awakening city. The woman’s eyes though opened, were empty and moved accordingly to the flock of doves that soared through the chilled air. She gazed at the beautifully choreographed dance above where delicate wings formed prominent silhouettes against the comforting rays. The ancient apple tree which only last month was a mess of unruly twigs and withered leaves had now flourish into a bounty of lively red apples that heralded the Springtime. The richness of the sanctuary generated distant and painful memories in her head like the scenes of a tragic movie. She could still picture the remorseful look in the man’s eyes during his last breath. Her father, a man of ambitions and responsibilities, was not the father to throw her into the sky and tell her how much he loved

However, tonight was slightly different there was a feeling of emptiness within me that only jasper could fill, but he was know where to be seen. As I walked towards the smooth grey eucalyptus that presided over the small dam on the far side, I peered into the broad hallow space at its base where I knew Jasper stayed. But there was no sign of jasper or even the slightest amount of evidence that he had been here. I felt my body shatter for what felt like the millionth time tonight as the tears started to fall down my cheeks, I didn’t know how much more I could take before I simply couldn’t handle this anymore. As I sat slumped along the water’s edge with my head on my knees, I felt betrayed and heartbroken. Jasper Jones was really gone, he had left me and gone to the city by himself, a plan that we were meant to do together. I was distressed, filled with anger and heartbreak. He had broken his promise. But the truth is what hurt me the most, I thought he loved me, I thought what we had was real, but I was wrong. Tonight was going to be the night I tell him everything, the night I was going to beg him to leave with me. Because I was in trouble. I couldn’t do this alone. I needed him more than ever but he wasn’t there. As these thoughts kept running through my head I begin to write it down. One way or another

I remember the day just like it was yesterday, the pale color and coldness of her skin. The sky was clear blue, soft, with a touch of red, and the trees seemed stiff in their bright green shade. The wind was blowing with its humid dry air. And All I could do was stand silently in disbelief, caught up in my own thoughts and calm as I ever been. Wondering what I could have done differently to change the course of time, life had taken us upon. Since that very day a chunk of my heart was ripped away, and broken into pieces… “Oh how I miss her so much.”

I woke up like a corpse rises from the grave, my red eyes flooded with tears. The cool air lulled my throat; dissipating the faint memory of a raging fire and loathsome vultures scavenging my flesh. As the tears coated my face, I sat up until a symphony of cracks sang from my spine. Despite the agonizing pain, I turned around and the world revealed itself as a contemporary