I will teach you to love death. I will empty you of grief and guilt and self-pity and fill you up with hate and cunning and the spirit of vengeance. I will make my final stand here, Benjamin Thomas Parish.

I didn't show up here to give your life purpose now that your life's over. That's up to you to figure out.

It wasn't aliens that first made us gear up for war; it was our fellow humans.

The kid who didn't go back when he should have and now goes back when he shouldn't. The kid called Zombie, who made a promise, and if he breaks that promise, the war is over - not the big war, but the war that matters, the one in the battlefield of his heart. Because promises matter. They matter now more than ever.

Sometimes in my tent, late at night, I think I can hear the stars scraping against the sky.

What doesn't kill us sharpens us. Hardens us. Schools us. You're beating plowshares into swords, Vosch. You are remaking us. We are the clay, and you are Michelangelo. And we will be your masterpiece.

When you look death in the eye and death blinks first, nothing seems impossible.