Some days in the camp you prayed to live; some days you prayed to die quick. Some days you didn't bother praying, knowing there was no sense to anything.

Here is a sermon for you, Reverend: Everything not dead dies. Just like those little fellows scooting around beside that dead mamma goose, little downy fellas who are gonna meet a hungry weasel or vicious farm dog before nightfall, their world stands in chaos, and not of their own doing.

It doesn't make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who's dead.

War would end if the dead could return.

I declared that the dead, who had already died, Are happier than the living, who are still alive

The good die young, because they see it's no use living if you have got to be good.