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The brave men die in war. It takes great luck or judgment not to be killed. Once, at least, the head has to bow and the knee has to bend to danger. The soldiers who march back under the triumphal arches are death's deserters.

Defeat may serve as well as victory to shake the soul and let the glory out.

It is vain for the coward to flee; death follows close behind; it is only by defying it that the brave escape.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

Cowards are cruel, but the brave love mercy and delight to save.

Next to a battle lost, the greatest misery is a battle gained.

The enemy fought with savage fury, and met death with all its horrors, without shrinking or complaining: not one asked to be spared, but fought as long as they could stand or sit.

Even cowards can endure hardship; only the brave can endure suspense.

This bloody past suggests to us that enemies cease hostilities only when they are battered enough to acknowledge that there is no hope in victory - and thus that further resistance means only useless sacrifice.