He wished that he, too, had a wound, a red badge of courage. - Stephen Crane

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment, Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them, Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom -A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.

Many a man ought to have a bath-tub larger than the boat which here rode upon the sea.

When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important,
and that she feels she would not maim the universe by disposing of him,
he at first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply
the fact that there are no brick and no temples.