Humans create their futures every day of every year; only you can alter your worlds.

Reasons never matter, once Death comes cold and bold and takes the living by the hand. You count up your dead, every one.

Sometimes the cost of winning for all the right reasons is so great that spirits die and hearts grow cold.

Look to the souls of Your own soldiers, God, who labor in Thine awful cause.

This fight coming is not a battle of weapons, but a battle of wills.

"Godling? Demigod?" Lysis nearly howled. "You'd be beaten black and blue in Thebes, and staked out overnight for claims like that. In Sparta, the secret police would ambush you, violate you, skin you alive and use your skull for a drinking cup."

There is no mercy in trading life for life. And certainly no righteousness. Mercy, once given, cannot be taken back.