A Quote by Douglas MacArthur

A soldier plods and groans, sweats and toils, he growls and curses, and at the end he dies. — © Douglas MacArthur
A soldier plods and groans, sweats and toils, he growls and curses, and at the end he dies.
The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday morns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps.
It's always said that when one is a soldier who dies in battle, you go to a very high world. There's a great and good karma for the soldier who dies in battle because it's an extended selfless giving.
A coward dies a thousand times, a soldier dies but once.
The soldier's heart, the soldier's spirit, the soldier's soul, are everything. Unless the soldier's soul sustains him he cannot be relied on and will fail himself and his commander and his country in the end.
Determination is the thing on which you can depend. It plods along without a swing, but gets there in the end.
The soldier who fights to death never dies, but the soldier who fights for existence never truly exists.
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
As a soldier, I stand ready to serve and protect and defend this country. And as a soldier, I know the cost of war. And as president and commander-in-chief, I will end these regime-change wars.
Curses are children of hate; they belong to the wrong family! Prayers are better than curses!
When a soldier of the night's watch dies they say, "And now his watch is over." That's what they say when a comedian dies. They go, "And now his tour is done."
Nature in darkness groans and men are bound to sullen contemplation in the night: restless they turn on beds of sorrow; in their inmost brain feeling the crushing wheels, they rise, they write the bitter words of stern philosophy and knead the bread of knowledge with tears and groans.
It thunders, howls, roars, hisses, whistles, blusters, hums, growls, rumbles, squeaks, groans, sings, crackles, cracks, rattles, flickers, clicks, snarls, tumbles, whimpers, whines, rustles, murmurs, crashes, clucks, to gurgle, tinkles, blows, snores, claps, to lisp, to cough, it boils, to scream, to weep, to sob, to croak, to stutter, to lisp, to coo, to breathe, to clash, to bleat, to neigh, to grumble, to scrape, to bubble. These words, and others like them, which express sounds are more than mere symbols: they are a kind of hieroglyphics for the ear.
My very identity as a soldier came to an abrupt end. I'd been soldiering as long as I'd been shaving. Suddenly I'd been told I could no longer soldier, and it felt as though no one really cared if I ever shaved again.
When we train a horse to do a certain job, we're training the horse to be like a soldier, and yes, he still has a spirit, and he still has his ideas, but he is a disciplined soldier, and in the end, he will follow the rider's instruction to do what needs to be done.
At the end of April I archived 'Curses' and Inform, and announced them on the newsgroups.
The greatest thing that I had in my life was those moments with my dad that I sacrificed. I looked at him as a soldier. He's a wounded soldier. It's my duty as a human to take care of this soldier.
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