The most persistent sound which reverberates through man's history is the beating of war drums.

I'd lock myself in my room and take out my frustration by beating my drums.

Politics can be relatively fair in the breathing spaces of history; at its critical turning points there is no other rule possible than the old one, that the end justifies the means.

The progress of science is strewn, like an ancient desert trail, with the bleached skeleton of discarded theories which once seemed to possess eternal life.

We're looking at a casket that housed Brother Furman, ... but he's somewhere up there, still beating on those drums. He's in God's arms, and everything is all right now.

This war is not necessary. We are truly sleepwalking through history.