I've Looked That Old Scoundrel Death In

They Died Hard, Those Savage Men - Like Wounded Wolves At Bay. They Were Filthy, And They Were Lousy, And They Stunk. And I Loved Them.

In My Dreams I Hear Again The Crash Of Guns, The Rattle Of Musketry, The Strange, Mournful Mutter Of The Battlefield.

The Inescapable Price Of Liberty Is An Ability To Preserve It From Destruction.

The World Is In A Constant Conspiracy Against The Brave. It's The Age-old Struggle: The Roar Of The Crowd On The One Side, And The Voice Of Your Conscience On The Other.

In This Situation, It Becomes Vital That Our Own Country Orient Its Policies In Consonance With This Basic Evolutionary Condition Rather Than Pursue A Course Blind To The Reality That The Colonial Era Is Now Past And The Asian Peoples Covet The Right To Shape Their Own Free Destiny. What They Seek Now Is Friendly Guidance, Understanding, And Support - Not Imperious Direction - The Dignity Of Equality And Not The Shame Of Subjugation.