The meaning of life, Nikodemos, is to live life with meaning. The purpose of life is merely to live it, perhaps to give it.

Men live, and then they die. It is the quality of the process of living which matters, that and that alone.

Your honor blinds you, Tempus, to what's right and wrong these days.

You have crossbows: Shoot early; shoot often.

Stop grieving. Start giving thanks to me. You live to fight on other days.

Be polite to all, friendly to none. Be professional. Be ready to kill everyone and everything.

And what do the Theban hoplites see in this extended rending of the sky, this white-bright glory of Enlil's lightning? The future, but not theirs: paired cavalry fighters; formed ranks of armored death; grim men on their tall horses with lightning limning weapons tailored to the task; men spoiling for a fight if the gods allowed - the Sacred Band of Stepsons, out from shadows and the dark.