“Most likely, they were writing the same type of macho bullshit that I wrote, trying to sound tough with their words in case words were all that made it home.” — Clint Van Winkle Copy Share Image
“I wasn't writing home. I wasn't writing a death letter, either. I was writing a death journal, a piece of fiction meant for my family and my fiancee, Sara.” — Clint Van Winkle Copy Share Image
“Most likely, they were writing the same type of macho bullshit that I wrote, trying to sound tough with their words in case words… — Clint Van Winkle Copy Share Image
“No matter what the reason, the ways I tried to justify the situation, the second-guessing that lingered, nothing could change the fact that people… — Clint Van Winkle Copy Share Image
“I wanted to see my family, but didn't want to leave the other guys. The people waiting for us were strangers, even though I… — Clint Van Winkle Copy Share Image
“I wasn't writing home. I wasn't writing a death letter, either. I was writing a death journal, a piece of fiction meant for my… — Clint Van Winkle Copy Share Image
“Unfortunately, just like bullets, you can never get words back once they have been sent out into the world.” — Clint Van Winkle Copy Share Image
“I was enjoying the great human trophy hunt and, looking back, it scares the hell out of me” — Clint Van Winkle Copy Share Image
