My men can eat their belts, but my tanks have gotta have gas.

For over a thousand years Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of triumph, a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeteers, musicians and strange animals from conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conquerors rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children robed in white stood with him in the chariot or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror holding a golden crown and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting.

So let us do real fighting, boring in and gouging, biting.

If a man does his best, what else is there?

I read the Bible - every goddamn day.

A real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood.

Successful generals make plans to fit circumstances, but do not try to create circumstances to fit plans.