Name none of the fallen, for they stand in our place, and stand there still in each moment of our lives. Let my death hold no glory, and let me die forgotten and unknown. Let it not be said that I was one among the dead to accuse the living.

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

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.

Name none of the fallen, for they stand in our place, and stand there still in each moment of our lives. Let my death hold no glory, and let me die forgotten and unknown. Let it not be said that I was one among the dead to accuse the living.

Detachment is a flaw, not a virtue-don’t you realize that?

Soldiers are issued armour for their flesh and bones, but they must fashion their own for their souls. Piece by piece.