If those in charge of our society — politicians, corporate executives, and owners of press and television — can dominate our ideas, they will be secure in their power. They will not need soldiers patrolling the streets. We will control ourselves.
It took a long time to march around the city, and the nation of Israel remained solemnly silent on each circuit. Finally, on the seventh time around, Joshua shouted to the priests, “Now sound the trumpets and let all the people shout!” The trumpets blared out with their brazen voices, and at the same time every soul in Israel shouted at the top of their lungs. It made an awesome din, and even as the voices were on the air, Othniel was shocked to see a crack develop right in front of his eyes. It ran from the ground all the way up to the top of the wall. Other cracks began springing up, and the shouting increased. “The wall, it’s falling!” one of the soldiers shouted.
Why are you taking us in? We don’t know you.” Rahab replied quickly, “We have all heard of the great god that you serve. We don’t know his name, but our kinsman told us all about him. What a powerful god he is. Our gods are weak and helpless. I think you’ve been sent to see what our soldiers and our city are like.” When Ardon didn’t answer, Othniel said, “That’s right. We’re scouts.” “Then your soldiers are going to attack our city, aren’t they?” Rahab said. “Yes, they are.” “I thought so,” Rahab said, nodding. “When I saw you it leaped into my heart that if we would help you, then maybe you would ask your god to have mercy on my family.” Othniel waited for Ardon to speak,
There is a certain nobility and dignity in combat soldiers and medical aid men with dirt in their ears. They are rough and their language gets coarse because they live a life stripped of convention and niceties. Their nobility and dignity come from the way they live unselfishly and risk their lives to help each other.
"But a prince shall oppose his conquests and cause the reproach offered by him to cease,"--Scipio Africanus, who stopped the progress of Antiochus the Great because he offended the Romans in the person of their allies.--"He will return into his kingdom and perish and be no more."--He was killed by his soldiers.
The wall was indeed falling. Down it came with a thunderous crash, the roar of it almost drowning out the screams of the archers on the wall as they fell and were crushed by the huge blocks. The houses that were on the wall fell too, and Othniel grasped Ardon’s arm. “God is destroying the walls!” he cried. “But not that part. Look!” Othniel saw that part of the wall was still standing and that from one of the houses the scarlet rope on which they had escaped from Jericho was dangling. “Come on. We’ll get them out.” Othniel drew his sword along with the other soldiers. They were all screaming and running straight for the wall. The cries of the dying who had been crushed by the wall were soon joined by the shouts of the remaining soldiers who were met by the flashing swords of Joshua’s army.
Our magistrates are well aware of this mystery. Their scarlet robes, the ermine in which they wrap themselves like furred cats, the halls in which they administer justice, the _fleurs-de-lis_, and all their august apparatus are most necessary; if the doctors had not their cassocks and their mules, if the lawyers had not their square caps, and their robes four times too wide, they would never have duped the world, which cannot resist so authoritative an appearance. Soldiers alone are not disguised after this fashion, because indeed their part is the more essential, they establish themselves by force, the others by fraud.
of venereal soldiers along the way. A more effective
Soldats! si les cornettes vous manquent, vous trouverez toujours mon panache blanc au chemin de l'honneur et de la gloire=--Soldiers! if you don't hear the bugle-call, you will always see my white plume in the path of honour and glory!
All are not soldiers that go to the wars.
The worse the man, the better the soldier; if soldiers be not corrupt, they ought to be made so.
Children should have their times of being off duty, like soldiers.
O Richard! O my king! The universe forsakes thee!
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called the untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
_The heel of a slipper._--How well this is turned, here is a clever workman, how brave is this soldier! Such is the source of our inclinations and of the choice of conditions. How much this man drinks, how little that man! That is what makes men sober or drunken, soldiers, cowards, etc.
These are my soldiers. Standing single-file line in their assembly uniforms. Black shirts, black pants, black boots. No guns. Left fist pressed against their hearts.
As she walked quietly, she heard the voices of the soldiers on patrol. One troop of them came running along in order, their officer rapidly calling out commands. The walls were alive with soldiers, and she prayed, God of the Israelites, destroy this evil place! The prayer shocked her. She had not prayed like this before. All of her prayers had been for her family, but she knew that somehow the god of the Israelites was different from the gods of Jericho. She knew the gods of that city were futile and helpless, mere fragments of clay or stone or wood.
For we must not mistake ourselves, we have as much that is automatic in us as intellectual, and hence it comes that the instrument by which persuasion is brought about is not demonstration alone. How few things are demonstrated! Proofs can only convince the mind; custom makes our strongest proofs and those which we hold most firmly, it sways the automaton, which draws the unconscious intellect after it. Who has demonstrated that there will be a to-morrow, or that we shall die; yet what is more universally believed? It is then custom that convinces us of it, custom that makes so many men Christians, custom that makes them Turks, heathen, artisans, soldiers, etc. Lastly, we must resort to custom when once the mind has seen where truth is, in order to slake our thirst, and steep ourselves in that belief, which escapes us at every hour, for to have proofs always at hand were too onerous. We must acquire a more easy belief, that of custom, which without violence, without art, without argument, causes our assent and inclines all our powers to this belief, so that our soul naturally falls into it. It is not enough to believe only by force of conviction if the automaton is inclined to believe the contrary. Both parts of us then must be obliged to believe, the intellect by arguments which it is enough to have admitted once in our lives, the automaton by custom, and by not allowing it to incline in the contrary direction. _Inclina cor meum, Deus._
Othniel felt a warmth in his heart. “After we’re gone, pull this rope up. When we come into this land again, it will be as soldiers in a battle, but don’t worry, Rahab. When the battle starts, get the rope out again and hang it down from this window. I’ll tell Joshua that where we see the scarlet rope lives a friend to Israel.” “That’s a good idea, Othniel,” Ardon said. “And, Rahab, do not go out of the house when the battle starts. You must stay inside or men will strike you down. I swear to you that we will save your lives.” “You mean,” Rahab whispered, “like a covenant?” “Yes. We have a covenant.” Rahab bowed to them. “According to your words, so be it.
He who incites soldiers to courage in action is of more value than a thousand fighting men.
The social leaders who refuse to allow politics into society are as foreseeing as the soldiers who refuse to allow politics to permeate the army. Society is like the sexual appetite; one does not know at what forms of perversion it may not arrive, once we have allowed our choice to be dictated by aesthetic considerations.
I had the good fortune and opportunity to come home and to tell the truth; many soldiers, like Pat Tillman... did not have that opportunity. The truth of war is not always easy. The truth is always more heroic than the hype.
The agricultural population, says Cato, produces the bravest men, the most valiant soldiers, and a class of citizens the least given of all to evil designs. . . . A bad bargain is always a ground for repentance.
The most important affair in life is the choice of a trade, yet chance decides it. Custom makes men masons, soldiers, tilers. "He is a good tiler," says one, "and soldiers are fools." But others: "There is nothing great but war, all but soldiers are rogues." We choose our professions according as we hear this or that praised or despised in our childhood, for we naturally love truth and hate folly. These words move us, the only fault is in their application. So great is the force of custom that out of those who by nature are only men, are made all conditions of men. For some countries are full of masons, others of soldiers, etc. Nature is certainly not so uniform. Custom then produces this effect and gains ascendency over nature, yet sometimes nature gets the upper hand, and obliges man to act by instinct in spite of all custom, whether good or bad.
We've found when soldiers help other soldiers, or military members of any service, it helps them, too.
All true men are soldiers in the same army, to do battle against the same enemy--the empire of darkness and wrong.
He [Tiberias Gracchus] told them that the commanders were guilty of a ridiculous error, when, at the head of their armies, they exhorted the common soldiers to fight for their sepulchres and altars; when not any amongst so many Romans is possessed of either altar or monument, neither have they any houses of their own, or hearths of their ancestors to defend. They fought indeed and were slain, but it was to maintain the luxury and the wealth of other men. They were styled the masters of the world, but in the meantime had not one foot of ground which they could call their own. “Tiberius Gracchus,” The Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans , Translated by John Dryden and revised by Arthur Hugh Clough. (New York: Random House, Modern Library edition, p. 999).
If you're a leader, you don't push wet spaghetti, you pull it. The U.S. Army still has to learn that. The British understand it. Patton understood it. I always admired Patton. Oh, sure, the stupid bastard was crazy. He was insane. He thought he was living in the Dark Ages. Soldiers were peasants to him. I didn't like that attitude, but I certainly respected his theories and the techniques he used to get his men out of their foxholes.
When there are too many policemen, there can be no liberty. When there are too many soldiers, there can be no peace. When there are too many lawyers, there can be no justice.
Everyone knows there are spies in the area. I know everyone in Jericho, and besides I can tell by your voice and by your dress. The soldiers are coming. My house is right there. I will hide you.” “Who are you?” the wounded man gasped. “I told you my name is Rahab.” She hesitated, then said, “I will not lead you into harm. I am…a harlot.” The wounded man laughed weakly. “Wouldn’t you know it, Othniel, the only help we have and she’s a harlot.” “I don’t care what she is,” Othniel said. “They’re coming. I can hear them.” “We won’t go with a harlot!” “Yes we will. Why would you hide an enemy, Rahab?” he said. “I have heard of your god. He is a strong god. He’s going to destroy this place.
Great men often rejoice at crosses of fortune, just as brave soldiers do at wars.
Simon stopped listening. He realised he'd had enough. Enough of the theories, enough of the mystery, enough of the bullshit. Enough of the soldiers and guns and MI5. Enough of bugs in phones and in people he cared about. Enough of not being cared about back. Enough of uncertainty and lies and civilisation, collapsing or not. Enough of is part in it, his place, his role; the character of Simon Parfitt and all the baggage it entailed.
The three could only move slowly down the street. When they finally arrived at her doorway, she said, “Here, let’s go inside.” She opened the door and helped the wounded man in. As they closed the door, Ardon slumped to the floor unconscious. Rahab and Othniel stared at each other. The feet of the soldiers pounded by, and the officer’s voice said, “Find them. They’re here somewhere. Find them!” “I think you saved our lives, Rahab, and I thank you.” Rahab looked down at the limp figure. “I must take care of his arm or he will bleed to death.” The noise of their entrance stirred the rest of the family. They came in staring, and Rahab cut all questions short. “These men are servants of the god of Israel. We must help them.
Of governments, that of the mob is the most sanguinary, that of soldiers the most expensive, and that of civilians the most vexatious.--_Colton._
Shadows to-night / Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard / Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
When soldiers have been baptised in the fire of a battlefield, they have all one rank in my eyes.
~Pedant.~--As pedantry is an ostentatious obtrusion of knowledge, in which those who hear us cannot sympathize, it is a fault of which soldiers, sailors, sportsmen, gamesters, cultivators, and all men engaged in a particular occupation, are quite as guilty as scholars; but they have the good fortune to have the vice only of pedantry, while scholars have both the vice and the name for it too.--_S. Smith._
Bonus dux bonum reddit militem=--The good general makes good soldiers.
The soldiers are searching every house. They’ll probably look on the roof too.” “What’ll we do?” Othniel asked quickly. “There’s only one place. Get over here. I’ll cover you up with these sheaves.” The roof was the only place that the family had to store anything, and a great many bundles of flax were there that Kadir used to make into twine. Ardon grasped his sword and held it, his face tense. “We’ll have to fight.” “We wouldn’t have a chance,” Othniel said. “Come on. Get here in the corner.” Rahab saw the resistance in Ardon, and she shook her head. “There are many of them. Quick, I’ll hide you.” Ardon shrugged. “All right, we’ll try it,” he murmured. The two men sat down, and Rahab began to cover them with the flax.
Although too much of a soldier among sovereigns, no one could claim with better right to be a sovereign among soldiers.
~Moderation.~--Till men have been some time free, they know not how to use their freedom. The natives of wine countries are generally sober. In climates where wine is a rarity intemperance abounds. A newly liberated people may be compared to a Northern army encamped on the Rhine or the Xeres. It is said that, when soldiers in such a situation first find themselves able to indulge without restraint in such a rare and expensive luxury, nothing is to be seen but intoxication. Soon, however, plenty teaches discretion; and after wine has been for a few months their daily fare, they become more temperate than they had ever been in their own country. In the same manner, the final and permanent fruits of liberty are wisdom, moderation, and mercy.--_Macaulay._
It won’t be safe for you to leave here for a while. The soldiers are everywhere.” She hesitated, then said, “My father must not know you’re here.” “Why not?” Rahab shook her head. “He’s not an honorable man. He would sell you for the reward I am certain the king has offered to pay for you.” She turned to Ardon. “Are you feeling any better?” “I’m all right,” Ardon said gruffly. “You must eat and drink all you can, and later we’ll have to dress the wound.” When Ardon did not answer, she nodded and said, “Good night.
Here, on earth we are as soldiers fighting in a foreign land, that understand not the plan of the campaign, and have no need to understand it, seeing well what is at our hand to be done.
Ardon was greeted by several of the members of the tribe of Dan. They were an unruly, quarrelsome group, and Ardon remembered the prophecy that Jacob, the grandson of Abraham, had given on his deathbed. He had identified the nature of each of his sons, and of Dan he had said, “Dan will be a serpent by the roadside, a viper along the path, that bites the horse’s heels so that its rider tumbles backward.” A grim smile touched Ardon’s broad lips. “Old Jacob got it right that time. Dan has some good soldiers, but they are not to be trusted.
No lesson seems to be so deeply inculcated by the experience of life as that you should never trust experts. If you believe doctors, nothing is wholesome: if you believe the theologians, nothing is innocent: if you believe the soldiers, nothing is safe. They all require their strong wine diluted by a very large admixture of insipid common sense.
There are soldiers of the ploughshare as well as soldiers of the sword.
good soldiers are defined by what they can endure, not by what they can inflict.
Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burns brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweetheart, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.
I had a hat. It was not all a hat,-- Part of the brim was gone: Yet still I wore it on.
Gens de guerre=--Soldiers.
Rahab took a deep breath. “You will never get through the gate. Too many soldiers.” “We’ll have to try,” Ardon said. “No. Wait. I have something.” She opened a basket she had brought with her and drew something out.” “What’s that?” Othniel said. “Why, it’s a rope. I never saw one like it,” Ardon said. “It’s red, isn’t it? It’s hard to tell in this light.” “I made it out of spare material from a place where I once worked at a weaver’s shop.
It is a ridiculous thing to consider that there are people in the world who, having renounced all the laws of God and nature, have yet made laws for themselves which they exactly obey, as, for instance, the soldiers of Mahomet, thieves, heretics, etc., and thus logicians....
I, who have sent armies into fire and soldiers to their death, say today: We sail onto a war which has no casualties, no wounded, no blood nor suffering. It is the only war which is a pleasure to participate in \x97 the war for peace.
Later on after the war was over the women were to find this constantly; the men who had actually been in the thick of battle never opened their mouths about it, refused to join the ex-soldiers’ clubs and leagues, wanted nothing to do with institutions perpetuating the memory of war.
I sit by the window and watch the rain and the leaves and the snow collide. They take turns dancing in the wind, performing choreographed routines for unsuspecting masses. The soldiers stomp stomp stomp through the rain, crushing leaves and fallen snow under their feet. Their hands are wrapped in gloves wrapped around guns that could put a bullet through a million possibilities. They don’t bother to be bothered by the beauty that falls from the sky. They don’t understand the freedom in feeling the universe on their skin. They don’t care.
By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
Two hundred years ago today, Irma Chine of White Plains, New York, was performing her normal housekeeping routines. She was interrupted by British soldiers who, rallying to the call of their supervisor, General Hughes, sought to gain control of the voter registration lists kept in her home. Masking her fear and thinking fast, Mrs. Chine quickly divided a nearby apple in two and deftly stored the list in its center. Upon entering, the British blatantly violated every conceivable convention, and, though they went through the house virtually bit by bit, their search was fruitless. They had to return empty handed. Word of the incident propagated rapidly through the region. This historic event became the first documented use of core storage for the saving of registers.
Approaching the gates of the monastery, Hakuin found Ken the Zen preaching to a group of disciples. "Words..." Ken orated, "they are but an illusory veil obfuscating the absolute reality of --" "Ken!" Hakuin interrupted. "Your fly is down!" Whereupon the Clear Light of Illumination exploded upon Ken, and he vaporized. On the way to town, Hakuin was greeted by an itinerant monk imbued with the spirit of the morning. "Ah," the monk sighed, a beatific smile wrinkling across his cheeks, "Thou art That..." "Ah," Hakuin replied, pointing excitedly, "And Thou art Fat!" Whereupon the Clear Light of Illumination exploded upon the monk, and he vaporized. Next, the Governor sought the advice of Hakuin, crying: "As our enemies bear down upon us, how shall I, with such heartless and callow
"US?" snapped Hakuin.
Whereupon the Clear Light of Illumination exploded upon the
Governor, and he vaporized.
Then, a redneck went up to Hakuin and vaporized the old Master with
his shotgun. "Ha! Beat ya' to the punchline, ya' scrawny li'l geek!"
Are practically zero,
But those who wish to be civilians,
They run into the millions.
A woman was in love with fourteen soldiers. It was clearly platoonic.
You speak of courage. Obviously you do not know the difference between courage and foolhardiness. Always it is the brave ones who die, the soldiers. -- Kor, the Klingon Commander, "Errand of Mercy", stardate 3201.7
"The clergy successfully preached the doctrines of patience and pusillanimity; the active virtues of society were discouraged; and the last remains of a military spirit were buried in the cloister: a large portion of public and private wealth was consecrated to the specious demands of charity and devotion; and the soldiers' pay was lavished on the useless multitudes of both sexes who could only plead the merits of abstinence and chastity." -- Edward Gibbons, _The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_
I've always considered statesmen to be more expendable than soldiers.
Old soldiers never die. Young ones do.
"I do not show the soldiers that I recognise the tall man; he does not show the soldiers that he recognises me; we do it, and we know it, with our eyes. 'Come on!' says the chief of that company, pointing to the village, 'bring him fast to his tomb!' and they bring him faster. I follow. His arms are swelled because of being bound so tight, his wooden shoes are large and clumsy, and he is lame. Because he is lame, and consequently slow, they drive him with their guns--like this!"