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...enough to drink. And in a day or two, if the soldier stayed in uniform, a fellow American would ask some stunning, stopping version of: "How many babies did you kill?" For many Viet Nam veterans, the moment of return, that bleak homecoming, was the beginning of a long rage...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Forgotten Warriors | 7/13/1981 | See Source »

...real devils of the war work in the mind. Something like a quarter of those who served may still be suffering from substantial psychological problems. They get flashbacks, nightmares, depression, startle reactions, and that wild red haze of rage in the brain when self-control goes and adrenaline shakes the whole frame, and some terrific violence struggles to cut loose. That is Viet Nam combat doing its wild repertory in the theater of a vet's nerves...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Forgotten Warriors | 7/13/1981 | See Source »

...clear that he wants all priests to get out of politics. So have the bishops of Nicaragua. But D'Escoto and other colleagues refuse, saying that they must first serve God by serving the people and the revolution. D'Escoto's position has stirred concern-and rage-about the Maryknoll order across Latin America...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Religion: Those Beleaguered Maryknollers | 7/6/1981 | See Source »

...evil to Russia and the world. As her husband observed, "You just aren't very good at hating " How striking is the difference between Ginzburg's account of the camps and that of Solzhenitsyn, whose governing passion in the writing of The Gulag Archipelago was an unconquerable rage. No outsider in the West can hazard a judgment as to why the experience of the Gulag should have softened the heart of one prisoner while it hardened the purpose of another. Unquestionably, both pieces of testimony contain their own profound truth. -By Patricia Blake...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: The Pole of Cold and Cruelty | 6/22/1981 | See Source »

...rage at her treatment was compounded by the difficulty we had trying to move her to another hospital. My mother and I stood in the hospital lobby where half-clothed patients were walking around as we took turns calling various UHS doctors. Dealing with UHS was the same as dealing with the rest of the University--only by screaming and threatening did we get her moved. Several hours later, as my mother and I followed the ambulance that was taking my sister to a private hospital. I wondered what would have happened if she had had no one to push...

Author: By Esme C. Murphy, | Title: Fewer Illusions Then When They Came | 6/3/1981 | See Source »

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