I felt like I was definitely seeing something - the falsely gorgeous images of war, painted, almost invariably, in 'Times' combat photos.

We like non-fiction because we live in fictitious times.

The 'Times' is understood to be almost the unofficial biographer of the country, in some strange way to be printing a kind of quasi-neutral truth or even, in some people's minds, slightly center-left version of reality.

For some reason, Hollywood seems to have painted me as a gorgeous vixen at times or the sweet girl.

Shyness is invariably a suppression of something. It's almost a fear of what you're capable of.

The problem is that it's hard to aim a rifle when your heart is pounding, which points to an irony of modern combat: it does extraordinarily violent things to the human body but requires almost dead calm to execute well.