I mean the only thing us dead soldiers got in common is that none of us was good enough or lucky enough to survive the fight. We're a host of failures.

I warn you all, hatred is finding fertile soil within me. And in your compassion, in your every good intention, you nurture it.

More than one philosopher has claimed that we ever remain children, far beneath the indurated layers that make up the armour of adulthood. Armour encumbers, restricts the body and soul within it. But it also protects. Blows are blunted. Feelings lose their edge, leaving us to suffer naught but a plague of bruises, and, after a time, bruises fade.

Ambition is not a dirty word. Piss on compromise. Go for the throat.

Not even the lichen of the tundra is at peace. All is struggle, all is war for dominance. Those who lose, vanish. -And we’re no different you’re saying- We are, soldier. We possess the privilege of choice. The gift of foresight. Though often we come too late in acknowledging responsibilities….

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

I hear Seven Cities natives grow fruit just so they can eat the larvae in them.