"God help me, I do love it so."
You know what the poet said:
"Through the travail of ages,
Midst the pomp and toils of war,
Have I fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon a star.
As if through a glass, and darkly
The age-old strife I seeó
Where I fought in many guises, many namesó
but always me."
Do you know who the poet was? Me.
"Such a waste of fine infantry."
"They're Ivory! Only a pimp from a cheap New Orleans whore house would carry a pearl-handled pistol."
"Rommel...you magnificent bastard, I read your book!"
"For over a thousand years, Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of a triumph - a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white, stood with him in the chariot, or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror, holding a golden crown, and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting."
" An entire world at war and I'm left out of it? God will not permit this to happen! I will be allowed to fulfill my destiny!"