Best 769 quotes in «soldier quotes» category

I guess I could drive myself crazy trying to figure out why he left me but I can’t, all I can do is move on, Parisa replied, the words came out smoother and easier than she expected.

I have always been a soldier. I have known no other life. The calling of arms, I have followed from boyhood. I have never sought another. I have known lovers, sired offspring, competed in games, and committed outrages when drunk. I have vanquished empires, yoked continents, been crowned as an immortal before gods and men. But always I have been a soldier.

I have become a soldier as competent as my ardent desire to take revenge.

I hate myself that I wasn't there for him. I hate that I could not feel it in him. How could I not know what had happened? How could I not hear it in his voice, his comments, or in his demeanor? He needed my help, and I couldn't feel it.

Imagine a soldier who believes killing another human being is wrong, kills his first human being in war when he has never killed before. Worse still, imagine this same soldier has his enemy in his sites and the enemy appears defenseless. Here, he might be allowed the luxury to have that moment with himself to debate whether he should pull the trigger or not. But on another day he may not have that luxury. Imagine further, a soldier is in this situation because his father was a soldier, and his grandfather was a soldier, and he is trying to please them but, unlike them, he doesn’t believe killing people in war is right, yet there he is on the battlefield anyway where ‘killed or be killed’ leads the list in the army’s operation manual. So, he pulls the trigger anyway even though he’s categorically against killing another human being. And maybe this is the first time he’s compromised on such a high principle and he continues killing other people as long as he’s in the war and each time it becomes easier and easier until his principle, his absolute truth, is a motto not to live by, but one that is just a topic of conversation in a philosophy class or a backyard barbecue. War has changed him. From Messages From a Grandfather, by Robert Gately

I heard them tearing at it. It was the sound of mortality.

I knew then I was going to die in the street without ever seeing Holly again. All because I tried to help an old woman, proving for all eternity that no good deed goes unpunished.

I know a little of living and a little of dying. I know how to survive, i have mastered it as a soldier gains mastery of his weapons. Yet i prefer dying, for in dying i learn to live.

I’m back. I’m still here. I never left.

I’m not a bad person.

I'm obsessed with trying to recount events as accurately and honestly as possible, but in practice the only thing I'm really any good at is telling you how I feel.

I put my hands behind my head and lay on my back, trying to hold on to the memories of my family. Their faces seemed to be far off somewhere in my mind, and to get to them I had to bring up painful memories.

It’d been a long time since they’d been together, but as close as they were physically, they’d never been so far apart in every other way.

In 1945, Oppenheimer posited that what happened during the Trinity Test was due to ‘Time Tunnels.’ A 50-year ‘time tunnel.” “So, in 1945, you could send a soldier 50 years back?” “Exactly. Well, except for the fact that at the time we didn’t know if we ever could deliberately send something or someone, but we were already sure it was a one-way trip.

In wartime, everyone loves a soldier, and a wounded hero even more so.

I thought if I loved you enough I could change you. I was so stupid.

It just so happened that a big old crocodile had been sunning himself on the beach very close to the soldier who was on point in the left-hand column, but the soldier was concentrating so hard on the tree line ahead that he didn’t notice the creature. Well, the crock got nervous and made a loud hissing sound and then headed for the river. I was nearby in the center column and watched as that soldier turned as white as a sheet.

It is something that cannot be explained or even understood until you’ve lived it; a man can’t know or fully appreciate his life until he’s been close enough to taste the end of it, and the bonds forged in battle are some of the strongest a man could ever have. We are brothers, the men of ODA 022, and though we didn’t have the same blood running through our veins, we had all shed the blood of others together, and knew that none of us would hesitate to step in the way of fate and take a round or jump on a grenade to save one another.

It might come a time to not follow your passion, so to speak, although it must be prioritized. It may be the case that your passion will serve as the medic, your peace of mind, alongside a higher calling, with your higher calling being the point man.

It’s not about winning, it’s about doing what’s right. And yes, we will do what’s right.

I turned to her, my whole body hard with tiredness and regret.

It was an inflexible maxim of Roman discipline that good soldier should dread his own officers far more than the enemy

It was her turn to hold him up.

I think, though, that another shame of war is that when it’s over, a soldier don’t get to leave it behind where he fought it. He’s gotta carry it right back home with him, in his head, and in his heart.

Its spiritual revolution time; warrior up and let's get some for the Kingdom and slay them giants of sin and shame, marching upward for God is with us! Push Through church, push through!

I wanted to see the bullet coming, wanted to know the exact moment of my death.

I want to weep for lack of such a noble concept -- a soldier's right to refuse.

I was a spectator who had gotten free admission to a freak show.

Live for your country, die to yourself; live for yourself, die to your country.

Max?' he asked. 'Yeah?' '...What are you doing?' 'Shooting people.

Lying half-asleep in his embrace, I looked up and saw on his face the same expression I saw on countless lonely faces every day. It was the homesick look of the children who were lost in the chaos of warfare, witnessing death and disaster, longing for a meaningful touch.

Looking toward the Polish Rider she met his calm tender gentle thoughtful gaze. She thought, what he sees is the face of death. He sees the silence of the valley, its emptiness, its innocence — and beyond it the hideous field of war on which he will die. And his poor horse will die too. He is courage, he is love, he loves what is good, and will die for it, his body will be trampled by horses' hooves, and no one will know his grave. She thought, he is so beautiful, he has the beauty of goodness.

...men are poor soldiers in love's war. And it is a war-one that never ends.

Mellas continued to look at the wallet, saying nothing. Hawke, who had been watching Mellas through the steam that rose from his pear-can coffee mug, handed Mellas the cup. Mellas gave a brief smile and took a drink. His hand was shaking. Hawke said in a calm voice, 'Something happened. You want to talk about it?' Mellas didn't answer right away. Then he said, 'I think I know where the gooks are.' He pulled out his map and pointed to the spot, his hand still trembling. 'How do you know that, Mel?' Hawke asked. 'From the direction he crawled after he was shot.' Mellas tossed the wallet down at Fitch. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out the soldier's unit and rank patches. he looked at them, then at Fitch and Hawke, who were no longer eating. 'I let him crawl toward home with his guts hanging out.' He started sobbing. 'I just left him there.' Snot was streaming from his nose. 'I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.' His hands were now shaking with his body as he clenched the two pieces of cloth to his eyes.

Most likely, they were writing the same type of macho bullshit that I wrote, trying to sound tough with their words in case words were all that made it home.

Murph took his shot and dropped the bastard right out of the tree. then he stood. "I'm an American soldier, you son of a bitch.

Mellas was transported outside himself, beyond himself. It was as if his mind watched eveything coolly while his body raced wildly with passion and fear. He was frightened beyond any fear he had ever known. But this brilliant and intense fear, this terrible here and now, combined with the crucial significance of every movement of his body, pushed him over a barrier whose existence he had not known about until this moment. He gave himself over completely to the god of war within him.

My heart is full and my weapon is clean.

Much, much later. when I am back home and being treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). I will be enabled to see what was going on in my mind immediately after 11 August. I am still capable of operating mechanically as a soldier in these following days. But operating mechanically as a soldier is now all I am capable of. Martin says he is worried about me. He says I have the thousand-yard stare'. Of course, I cannot see this stare. But by now we both have more than an idea what it means. So, among all the soldiers here, this is nothing to be ashamed of. But as it really does just go with the territory we find ourselves in. it is just as equally not a badge of honour. Martin is seasoned enough to never even think this. but I know of young men back home, sitting in front of war films and war games, who idolise this condition as some kind of mark of a true warrior. But from where I sit, if indeed I do have this stare, this pathetically naive thinking is a crock of shit. Because only some pathetically naive soul who had never felt this nothingness would say something so fucking dumb. You are no longer human, with all those depths and highs and nuances of emotion that define you as a person. There is no feeling any more, because to feel any emotion would also be to beckon the overwhelming blackness from you. My mind has now locked all this down. And without any control of this self-defence mechanism my subconscious has operated. I do not feel any more. But when I close my eyes. I see the dead Taliban looking into this blackness. And I see the Afghan soldier's face staring into it, singing gently as he slips into another world. And I see Dave Hicks's face. shaking gently as he tries to stay awake in this one. With this, I lift myself up, sitting foetal and hugging my knees on my sleeping mat.

My mother describes me as 'a real hero . . . just like your grandfather'. But I do not know what to do with this accolade for her son, other than let her have moment, or it helps her back here.

Not all days in the field were unhappy ones. You had to have fun sometimes or you would go crazy.

On our way back to her house, I didn’t look at the city lights any longer. I looked into the sky and felt as if the moon was following us. When I was a child, my grandmother told me that the sky speaks to those who look and listen to it. She said, “In the sky there are always answers and explanations for everything: every pain, every suffering, joy, and confusion.” That night I wanted the sky to talk to me.

Remember. Observe, assess and act. No hesitation. No remorse.

Riley was... a really good kisser

Sal turned, an eye stalk hanging from his teeth.

She played me with a bad hand, and I fell for it every time.

She smiled at him like a freshman invited to the senior prom. It made my blood boil.

She was the soldier of her soul

Single Mothers will NOT be single forever. There is TIME for EVERYTHING including their marriages too... Because I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value. Nana Adu-Boafo Jnr, Author, God of Single Mothers 0202-422-220 Nana Adu-Boafo Jnr Soldier, Seer, Engineer, Author, Herbal Doctor

My family says they are proud of me. Of course, I would rather hear this than the contrary, but I cannot say that I am proud of myself, so I find that I cannot 'talk about it'.