The cowards never started and the weak died along the way. That leaves us, ladies and gentlemen. Us.

We’re left without a chance, ignorant and remorseful among the ruins of our ambitions.

Fatigue makes cowards of us all.

"I mean the only thing us dead soldiers got in common is that none of us was good enough or lucky enough to survive the fight. We're a host of failures."

They fail, and they alone, who have not striven.

If you lack the courage to start, you have already finished.

We have lost the courage to hope.

Fatigue makes cowards of all of us.

They killed us, but they ain't whooped us yet.

Living’s for those of us who failed. Greedy God, gathering in the good ones, leaving the world to the rest of us, to rot.

Guys like us got nothing to look ahead to.

We were the Swallows of Kabul, the silent rebels in a world that had forgotten how to fight.

If we do not help the whites, we shall be left by the roadside. And if we are such fools as to stand against the whites, they will grind us till we become less than impotent, less than grains of bad snuff tossing in a storm.

Unfortunately it is the weak who destroy the strong.