But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, with his martial cloak around him.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
There is something of the warrior in me.
He that fights and runs away, May turn and fight another day; But he that is in battle slain, Will never rise to fight again.
He belonged to that army known as invincible in peace, invisible in war.
He who would be serene and pure needs but one thing, detachment.
The thing about a hero, is even when it doesn't look like there's a light at the end of the tunnel, he's going to keep digging, he's going to keep trying to do right and make up for what's gone before, just because that's who he is.
You can lay down and die, or you can get up and fight, but that's it - there's no turning back.
The leader of men in warfare can show himself to his followers only through a mask, a mask that he must make for himself, but a mask made in such form as will mark him to men of his time and place as the leader they want and need.
He conquers who endures.
And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.
He who observes etiquette but objects to lying is like someone who dresses fashionably but wears no vest.