Harry Turtledove

“Sinner!” Selfe said again. “Even the Devil can quote Scripture for his purposes.”

“No doubt,” Dowling said. “Which of us do you suppose he’s speaking through? And how do you aim to prove it one way or the other?”

“You may not care about famous, buddy, but famous is gonna care about you,” the photographer predicted.

Quantity had a quality of its own.

“I’ve given up having suspicions. They end up getting confirmed, and then I’m unhappy,” the medic said. “I don’t like being unhappy. It makes me sad when I am.”

“Did anybody know what a nasty war this would be before they went and started it?”

“Does anybody ever?”

I think this is called peace. We used to have it all the time.

“Do you see things in black and white, or are there shades of gray for you?”

“I hope there’s gray, Menefee said. “Black and white make things easier, but only if you don’t want to think.”

Patton stared at him. “Then why doesn’t he throw you in irons, the way you deserve?”

“Because he knows I think with my head, not with my heart or my balls,” Potter answered. “It’s really a useful technique. You ought to try it one of these days…sir.”

Hal Williamson shook his hand and said, “Good luck to you, buddy. Goddamn if I didn’t learn something from you.”

“What’s that?” Cincinnatus asked.

“Colored guys—you’re just like anybody else, only darker,” Hal answered.

Cincinnatus laughed. “Shit, I’ll that that. Good luck to you, too, man.”

The difference between what you counted on and what you got explained why so many people had unhappy marriages.

Only thing worse than fighting a war and winning is fighting a war and losing.

Cincinnatus Driver hadn’t been under fire for more than twenty-five years. He’d forgotten how much fun it wasn’t.