Sad as a wasted passion. - George Eliot

We see human heroism broken into units and say, this unit did little – might as well not have been. But in this way we might break up a great army into units; in this way we might break the sunlight into fragments, and think that this and the other might be cheaply parted with. Let us rather raise a monument to the soldiers whose brave hearts only kept the ranks unbroken and met death – a monument to the faithful who were not famous, and who are precious as the continuity of the sunbeams is precious, though some of them fall unseen and on barrenness.

Hurt, he'll never be hurt — he's made to hurt other people.

No story is the same to us after a lapse of time; or rather we who read it
are no longer the same interpreters.