If I was forced to choose between the penitentiary and White House for four years, I would say the penitentiary, thank you.
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I hate newspapermen. They come into camp and pick up their camp rumors and print them as facts. I regard them as spies, which, in truth, they are. If I killed them all there would be news from Hell before breakfast.
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Vox populi, vox humbug.
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I think I understand what military fame is; to be killed on the field of battle and have your name misspelled in the newspapers.
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It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell.
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There is many a boy here today who looks on war as all glory, but boys it is all hell.
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Courage is a perfect sensibility of the measure of danger, and a mental willingness to endure it.
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Where today are the Pequot Where are the Narragansett, the Mohican, the Pokanoket, and many other once powerful tribes of our people They have vanished before the avarice and the oppression of the White Man, as snow before a summer sun. Will we let ourselves be destroyed in our turn without a struggle, give up our homes, our country bequeathed to us by the Great Spirit, the graves of our dead and everything that is dear to us I know you will cry with me, NEVER NEVER.
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From my tribe I take nothing I am the maker of my own fortune.
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War is cruel and you cannot refine it.
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A single twig breaks, but the bundle of twigs is strong.
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War is hell, and I mean to make it so.
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