Abby Stevens

“Gun up,' he whispered to Skosh. The word went back to invisible kids lying on the jungle floor. 'Set it in here,' Mellas whispered to Conman. 'Put Vancouver with his machine gun one-eighty from it.'

'He won't like it.'

'To hell with him. Send a fire team around to the left. We'll cover with Mole if they get into the shit. Who do you want to go?'

Now it was Conman's turn to play God, at age nineteen. He shut his eyes. 'Rider.'

So some are chosen to die young.”
― Karl Marlantes

“What if we ceased to pledge our allegiance to the bottom line and stood, instead, with those who line the bottom?”
― Gregory Boyle, Barking to the Choir: The Power of Radical Kinship

“Without your wounds where would your power be? It is your melancholy that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men and women. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In Love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve. Physician, draw back.”
― Thornton Wilder, The Collected Short Plays of Thornton Wilder

“Mellas continued to look at the wallet, saying nothing. Hawke, who had been watching Mellas through the steam that rose from his pear-can coffee mug, handed Mellas the cup. Mellas gave a brief smile and took a drink. His hand was shaking. Hawke said in a calm voice, 'Something happened. You want to talk about it?'

Mellas didn't answer right away. Then he said, 'I think I know where the gooks are.' He pulled out his map and pointed to the spot, his hand still trembling.

'How do you know that, Mel?' Hawke asked.

'From the direction he crawled after he was shot.' Mellas tossed the wallet down at Fitch. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out the soldier's unit and rank patches. he looked at them, then at Fitch and Hawke, who were no longer eating. 'I let him crawl toward home with his guts hanging out.' He started sobbing. 'I just left him there.' Snot was streaming from his nose. 'I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.' His hands were now shaking with his body as he clenched the two pieces of cloth to his eyes.”
― Karl Marlantes, Matterhorn