Treat every Frenchman as if he was the devil himself.

Gentlemen, when the enemy is committed to a mistake we must not interrupt him too soon.

Hardy, I do believe they have done it at last... my backbone is shot through.

Laurels grow in the Bay of Biscay, I hope a bed of them may be found in the Mediterranean.

The bravest man feels an anxiety 'circa praecordia' as he enters the battle; but he dreads disgrace yet more.

My character and good name are in my own keeping. Life with disgrace is dreadful. A glorious death is to be envied.

I could not tread these perilous paths in safety, if I did not keep a saving sense of humor.