What You Are Is A Question Only

When The Souls Rise Up In Glory, Yours Shall Not Be Shunned Nor Sunderered, But Shall Be The Prize Of The Gods' Gardens. Even Your Darkness Shall Be Treasured Then, And All Your Pain Made Holy.

I Don’t Duel, Boy. I Kill As A Soldier Kills, Which Is As A Butcher Kills, As Quickly, Efficiently, And With As Least Risk To Myself As I Can Arrange.

Suicidal Glory Is The Luxury Of The Irresponsible.

One Learns Better Than To Hand One's Choices To Fear. With Age, With Every Wound And Scar, One Learns.

History Does Not So Much Repeat As Echo, I Suppose.