Every ounce of my cynicism is supported by historical precedent.
The man who counts on the aid of a god deserves the help he doesn’t get.
Soldiers live. He dies and not you, and you feel guilty, because you’re glad he died, and not you. Soldiers live, and wonder why.
Nevertheless, four hours after dawn they began dying for their cause.
Rich men have dreams. Poor men die to make them come true.
I’m a bad man. I need to understand the past. It illuminates the present.
One’s own yesterday is a ghost that will not be laid down.
More evil gets done in the name of righteousness than any other way.
Evil is relative…You can’t hang a sign on it. You can’t touch it or taste it or cut it with a sword. Evil depends on where you are standing, pointing your indicting finger.
There are no self-proclaimed villains, only regiments of self-proclaimed saints. Victorious historians rule where good or evil lies.
I am haunted by the clear knowledge that, in the end, evil always triumphs.
I’m an incurable romantic. The essence of romance is an unshakable conviction that next time will be different.
She came and she went, in sorrow for the death of dreams, and she came no more.
One endured with humble dignity the consequences of youthful folly.