In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.

I suppose, in a way, this has become part of my soul. It is a symbol of my life. Whatever I have done that really matters, I've done wearing it. When the time comes, it will be in this that I journey forth. What greater honor could come to an American, and a soldier?

If I had one more division like this First Marine Division I could win this war.

There are no atheists in the foxholes of Bataan.

Duty, Honor, Country. Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be.

I see that the flagpole still stands. Have your troops hoist the colors to its peak, and let no enemy ever haul them down.

Our government has kept us in a perpetual state of fear - kept us in a continuous stampede of patriotic fervor - with the cry of grave national emergency. Always there has been some terrible evil at home or some monstrous foreign power that was going to gobble us up if we did not blindly rally behind it by furnishing the exorbitant funds demanded. Yet, in retrospect, these disasters seem never to have happened, seem never to have been quite real.