War is awful. Nothing, not the valor with which it is fought nor the nobility of the cause it serves, can glorify war. War is wretched beyond description and only a fool or a fraud could sentimentalize its cruel reality. Whatever is won in war, it is loss the veteran remembers.

War is wretched beyond description, and only a fool or a fraud could sentimentalize its cruel reality.

Only the most deluded of us could doubt the necessity of this war.

Wallace Worthington would have reminded Wilbur Larch of someone he might have met at the Channing-Peabodys’, where Dr. Larch went to perform his second abortion – the rich people’s abortion, as Larch thought of it. Wallace Worthington would strike Homer Wells as what a real King of New England should look like.

Ay, these look like the workmanship of heaven; This is the porcelain clay of human kind, And therefore cast into these noble moulds.

I know in war good people can feel obliged for good reasons to do things they would normally object to and recoil from.