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It is the coward who fawns upon those above him. It is the coward who is insolent whenever he dares be so.

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

In battle it is the cowards who run the most risk; bravery is a rampart of defense.

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

That most dangerous of opponents: the one who took pains to comprehend the position of his adversary.

The coward sneaks to death; the brave live on.

One must be a somebody before they can have a enemy. One must be a force before he can be resisted by another force.

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.

If you are strong and fighting the weak, then if you kill your opponent, then you are a scoundrel... if you let him kill you, then you are an idiot. So here is a dilemma which others have suffered before us, and for which as far as I can see, there is simply no escape.

Fighting is like champagne. It goes to the heads of cowards as quickly as of heroes. Any fool can be brave on a battlefield when it's be brave or else be killed.