It has neither arms nor legs, still less wings. It has neither father nor mother, nor home nor affection. It is so sad, ugly and old, and has gone insane so many times...

It doesn’t know how to tell stories and it never learned any poem by heart. Yet, it is able to rip craters bigger than those on the moon’s surface, as well as to make deserts where there was never a grain of sand. It is capable of this and much more.

In a world full of pitfalls, this book reminds us that the war always comes softly and camouflaged.