His will grew tight again. This was no age for weaklings. You had to do whatever seemed best, without letting… — Poul Anderson

A world of life and mystery, a world of splendor and striving and wistful beauty. Yes, it was good to live, and even if he was now to join the sun in an endless night, he was glad of what he had been given.

“So this,” he said, “is the excitement and glory of war! I’ll never believe a ballad singer again.”

“Peace,” he added, “is kept by the good will and strength of the peaceful.”