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Each man has a breaking point, no matter how strong his spirit. Somewhere, deep inside him, there is a flaw that only the fickle cruelty of fate can find.

You may think life is sweet now, but when death is a heartbeat away then life becomes unbearably desirable. And when you survive, everything you do will be enhanced and filled with greater joy: the sunlight, the breeze, a good wine, a woman's lips, a child's laughter.

War. What was it about the prospect of some bloody enterprises that reduced men to the level of animals?

Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone fails at something.

A problem shared is a problem doubled.

Some of you are probably thinking that you may panic and run. You will not! Others are worried about dying. Some of you will. But all men die. No one ever gets out of this life alive.

By nature of definition only the coward is capable of the highest heroism.

While men compete in war, there will be warriors. While there are warriors, there will be princes among warriors. Among the princes will be kings, and among the kings an emperor.

Only a fool loves war. Or a man who has never seen it. The trouble is that the survivors forget about the horrors and remember only the battle lust. They pass on that memory, and other men hunger for it.

[F]ear is a great ally.

A man with wife and daughters has no place losing his temper.

I don't know yet whether I fully believe in fate, but certain things do happen in a man's life that he cannot explain.