Soldiers Live

Soldiers live. He dies and not you, and you feel guilty, because you're glad he died, and not you. Soldiers live, and wonder why.

In the night, when the wind dies and silence rules the place of glittering stone, I remember. And they all live again.

You feel guilty. You wonder why him and not me, then you're glad it was him and not you, then you feel guilty. Soldiers live. And wonder why.

An old, old formula came to mind, from back when I was very young indeed. “I am a soldier.” I said it first in the language I had spoken then, then repeated myself in Sleepy’s own Dejagoran dialect. “I’ve been distracted before. I’m still alive.

I’m going to adopt you. You’d make a wonderful daughter. Hey, evil-minded future daughter number two. You heard Arkana. What do you think?” Grudgingly, Shukrat admitted, “I think she’s right.” “Excellent! Let’s go ask your wicked future mother’s opinion.” We

No soldier likes the thought of losing his best friend and favorite toy.

Once you're outside of the circle of people who agree that you're special, you're just another human body.

We're all capable of that, Shukrat. Put in the right place at the right time and given a motive. It's the people around us that keep us from doing it.

No knowledge is evil until someone chooses to do evil with it.

the people believe we’re indifferent to the criticism they won’t take it seriously either.

Oh, it’s a soldier’s life for me. Oh, the adventure and glory! It