Shall I tell you something I've been noticing? The mistrust this society has for women. All kinds of experts and officials are terrified because so many women are working. They really think that women have to be coerced into having babies and raising...
[W]e cease to be soldiers in the army of the upright; we become deserters. They march to battle. We float with the sticks on the stream; helter-skelter with the dead leaves on the lawn, irresponsible and disinterested and able, perhaps for the first ...
1. The desperate Jews - their spirits in my lap as we sat on the roof, next to the steaming chimneys. 2. The Russian soldiers - taking only small amounts of ammunition, relying on the fallen for the rest of it. 3. The soaked bodies of a French coast ...
Januz feels glad to have her in his arms--his wife, who would do anything to protect their son. This is how she presents herself. Like a soldier who would kill for her country. And her country is their son.
He (the British soldier) is generally beloved by two sorts of Companion, in whores and lice, for both these Vermin are great admirers of a Scarlet Coat.
When satan sees a baby, however, he doesn’t see a fragile, sweet, gurgling child; he sees a potential grown-up who is bought by the blood of the lamb and filled with the power of the Holy Ghost, a servant of God and a soldier of the cross, a great ...
Oh, adjust yourself. You people have spent ten millennia playing at soldiers while becoming ever more dedicated civilians. We've spent the last thousand years trying hard to stay civilian while refining the legacy of a won galactic war.
It feels like last week, but in fact we’re now closing in on five thousand days at war. I always picture Sami as a nine-year-old soccer stud ... and yet there are soldiers in Afghanistan today who were in fourth grade on 9/11.
Rather, both sides fought as soldiers fought in most wars--for survival, and to protect the men who had become extended family.
Only remember this: to seek justice is a good and noble thing, to seek revenge out of hatred is something that wiil devour your very soul.
I can't understand why dark northern soldiers and light ones are seperated into different brigades. The dead are all buried together in hasty mass graves, bones touching.
She’s a kid. Nothing to be afraid of. You’ve faced scores of bloodthirsty enemy soldiers happily willing to die if it meant killing you. You can handle one little girl.”~ Cal Excerpt From: Andrews, Keira. “Semper Fi.” iBooks. This material ...
We are all the judges and the judged, victims of the casual malice and fantasy of others, and ready sources of fantasy and malice in our turn. And if we are sometimes accused of sins of which we are innocent, are there not also other sins of which we...
Or he’d watch the news: more plagues, more famines, more floods, more insect or microbe or small-mammal outbreaks, more droughts, more chickenshit boy-soldier wars in distant countries. Why was everything so much like itself?
Unfortunately the ‘warrior’ archetype accidentally dropped the soap in the shower and he has been getting boned senseless by the ‘soldier/lobbyist archetype’ ever since.
How the soldiers had lain, slain and forgotten, no marker for their demise, no songs to their name, not even mourners who knew them. That is the end of battle, and once a man has tasted it, how hesitant he is to lift another spoonful to his lips.
O burn the house! You've murdered the husband, slaughtered the cattle, poisoned the well, raped the mother, killed the child - you must burn the house! You're soldiers - you must do your duty ... O burn the house! Burn the house! Burn the house!
Frank didn’t drop you on purpose,” she said. “He’s not like that. He’s just a little clumsy sometimes.” “Oops,” Leo said, in his best Frank Zhang voice. “Dropped Leo into a squad of enemy soldiers. Dang it!
Reader, do you think it is a terrible thing to hope when there is really no reason to hope at all? Or is it (as the soldier said about happiness) something that you might just as well do, since,in the end, it really makes no difference to anyone but ...
No, we’ll live. I promise you that.” He’d said it in a way that she couldn’t doubt, the same way he’d snapped his soldiers back into their rank on the helicopter. His words had been soft yet firm, and she wanted to believe in him as his men...
Thomas More syas that the imperial troops, for their enjoyment, are roasting live babies on spits. Oh, he would! says Thomas Cromwell. Listen, soldiers don't do that. They're too busy carrying away everything they can turn into ready money.
