The harder the world, the fiercer the honour.

Destiny is a lie. Destiny is justification for atrocity. It is the means by which murderers armour themselves against reprimand. It is a word intended to stand in place of ethics, denying all moral context.

It is one thing to lead by example with half a dozen soldiers at your back. It is wholly another with ten thousand.

If all we seek is an escape, what does that say about the world we live in? That village, that city, that life? We are desperate with our dreams. What - oh, what - does that say?

Survivors do not mourn together. They each mourn alone, even when in the same place. Grief is the most solitary of all feelings. Grief isolates, and every ritual, every gesture, every embrace, is a hopeless effort to break through that isolation. None of it works. The forms crumble and dissolve. To face death is to stand alone.

The harder the world, the fiercer the honour.

One day, perhaps, you will see for yourself that regrets are as nothing. The value lies in how they are answered.