Cadet Quotes

This is the best night of my life," Raffy says, crying. "Raffy, half our House has burnt down," I say wearily. "We don't have a kitchen." "Why do you always have to be so pessimistic?" she asks. "We can double up in our rooms and have a barbecue every night like the Cadets." Silently I vow to keep Raffy around for the rest of my life.

My net search is finding only a Cadet Carswell Thorne, of the American Republic, imprisoned in New Beijing prison on—" "That's him," said Cinder, ignoring Thorne's glare. Another silence as the heat in the engine room hovered just upside of comfortable. The, "You're... rather handsome, Captain Thorne." Cinder groaned. "And you, my fine lady, are the most gorgeous ship in these skies, and don't let anyone ever tell you different." The temperature drifted upward, until Cinder dropped her arms with a sigh. "Iko, are you intentionally blushing?" The temperature dropped back down to pleasant. "No," Iko said. Then, "But am I really pretty? Even as a ship?" "The prettiest," said Thorne.

Then I realize from the hollow sound of her gun's click that her gun isn't loaded. Apparently she just wants to slap me around with it. The Girl doesn't move her gun away. "How old are you?" "Fifteen." "That's better." The Girl lowers her gun a little. "Time for a few confessions.Were you responsible for the break-in at the Arcadia bank?" The ten-second place. "Yes." "Then you must be responsible for stealing sixteen thousand five hundred Notes from there as well." "You got that right." "Were you responsible for vandalizing the Department of Intra-Defense two years ago, and destroying the engines of two warfront airships?" "Yes." "Did you set fire to a series of ten F-472 fighter jets parked at the Burbank air force base right before they were to head out to the warfront?" "I'm kinda proud of that one." "Did assault a cadet standing guard at the edge of the Alta sector's quarantine zone?" "I tied him up and delivered food to some quarantined families.Bite me.

We do not eat our allies. —Tairn’s personal addendum to the Book of Brennan as quoted by Cadet Violet Sorrengail

I pointed my nose right at the bomber down below, then i hit the overburn. "Cadet?" Ironsides said. "Pilot, what are you doing?" "My weapons are gone . . . I have to ram it." "Understood," Ironsides whispered. "Saints' own speed, pilot." "What?" Jorgen said over the line. "What? Ram it? Spin!" I dove toward the enemy bomber "Spin," Jorgen said . . . "Spin you'll die." "Yes," I whispered. "But I'll win anyway.

The head nerd of the Cadets is my partner and when it's over he asks me for my number. I'm very flattered and he looks a bit crestfallen when I say no. "It's because they don't have coverage out here," Griggs tells him. "No," I say, looking up at Griggs. "It's actually because my heart belongs to someone else." And if I could bottle the look on his face, I'd keep it by my bedside for the rest of my life.

Keeping everything very cool and professional, I see, Cadet,” remarked Commander Woodsinger as he went by. Elliot did not know why the two most important women in his life had to be deadpan snarkers.

And suddenly I know I have to go. But this time without being chased by the Brigadier, without experiencing the kindness of a postman from Yass, and without taking along a Cadet who will change the way I breath for the rest of my life.

As I was saying...They train these girls to be like tiny ninjas. They have to earn special badges for the survival skills that they learn, kinda like how we teach the cadets. Now to balance out all the weapons training and harshness of wilderness survival, they also teach them to bake cookies.

You’re going to love Violet. She’s smart and stubborn. Reminds me a lot of you, actually. You just have to remember when you meet her: she’s not her mother. —Recovered Correspondence of Cadet Liam Mairi to Sloane Mairi

If I had to wish for something, just one thing, it would be that Hannah would never see Tate the way I did. Never see Tate's beautiful, lush hair turn brittle, her skin sallow, her teeth ruined by anything she could get her hands on that would make her forget. That Hannah would never count how many men there were, or how vile humans can be to one another. That she would never see the moments in my life that were full of neglect, and fear, and revulsion, moments I can never go back to because I know they will slow me down for the rest of my life if I let myself remember them for one moment. Tate, who had kept Hannah alive that night, reading her the story of Jem Finch and Mrs. Dubose. And suddenly I know I have to go. But this time without being chased by the Brigadier, without experiencing the kindness of a postman from Yass, and without taking along a Cadet who will change the way I breath for the rest of my life.

Clevinger was a troublemaker and a wise guy. Lieutenant Scheisskopf knew that Clevinger might cause even more trouble if he wasn't watched. Yesterday it was the cadet officers; tomorrow it might be the world. Clevinger had a mind, and Lieutenant Scheisskopf had noticed that people with minds tended to get pretty smart at times. Such men were dangerous, and even the new cadet officers whom Clevinger had helped into office were eager to give damning testimony against him. The case against Clevinger was open and shut. The only thing missing was something to charge him with.

As for changing the world, that begins with deciding you can.

The tapping grows insistent, and I turn, intending to tell off the Cadet. Instead, I'm faced with a slave-girl looking up at me through impossibly long eyelashes. A heated, visceral shock flares through me at the clarity of her dark gold eyes. For a second, I forget my name. I've never seen her before, because if I had, I'd remember. Despite the heavy silver cuffs and high, painful-looking bun that mark all of Blackcliff's drudges, nothing about her says slave. Her black dress fits her like a glove, sliding over every curve in a way that makes more than one head turn. Her full lips and fine, straight nose would be the envy of most girls, Scholar or not. I stare at her, realize I'm staring, tell myself to stop staring, and then keep staring. My breath falters, and my body, traitor that is, tugs me forward until there are only inches between us. “Asp-aspirant Veturius.” It's the way she says my name—like it's something to fear—that brings me back to myself. Pull it together, Veturius. I step away, appalled at myself when I see the terror in her eyes. “What is it?” I ask calmly.

(T)he cadet was too young to believe in death after life.

Either greed belongs in a war zone, or it doesn't. You can't unleash it in the name of sparking an economic boom and then be shocked when Halliburton overcharges for everything from towels to gas, when Parsons' sub, sub, sub-contractor builds a police academy where the pipes drip raw sewage on the heads of army cadets and where Blackwater investigates itself and finds it acted honorably. That's just corporations doing what they do and Iraq is a privatized war zone so that's what you get. Build a frontier, you get cowboys and robber barons.

Cadets can neither be treated as schoolboys or soldiers.

We're an Ag college," I explain to them. "Not as good as the one in Yanco but we have livestock." "Cows?" Anson Choi asks, covering his nose. "Pigs, too. And horses. Great for growing tomatoes. The Cadets are wanna-be soldiers. City people. They may know how to street fight but they don't know how to wade through manure. "I'm going to throw up," one of the guys says. "Don't feel too bad," I explain. "Some of our lot did while they were laying out this stuff. Actually, right there where you're standing.

...You have a problem, de Winter?" The words left her mouth before her brain filtered them. "Yes, it’s blond, green-eyed, and thinks it’s a god.

Sir... I... don't want... to... be... here," I said between sobs. There, I'd said it. Now everyone would be happy- Cadet Daily, my mother... Yes, you do, Davis." No, sir... I don't," I gasped. Homesick?" I shook my head from side to side. "No... sir... it's too much... like home.

But I'm... How can I... No hand, no visual sensor, humongous landing gear... Are those supposed to be my feet?" " Well, no. It's supposed to be landing gear." "Oh, what's become of me? I'm hideous!" "Now hold on just a minute there, Miss disembodied voice." Throne strode into the engine room and crossed his arms. "What do you mean 'hideous'?" "Who's that? Who's speaking?" "I am Captain Carswell Thorne, the owner of this fine ship and I will not stand to have her insulted in my presence!" Cinder rolled her eyes. "Captain Carswell Thorne?" "That's right." A brief silence, "My net search is finding only Cadet Carswell Thorne." "That's him." Said Cinder Another silence as the heat in the engine room rose. "You're rather handsome, Captain" "And you my fine lady, are the most gorgeous ship in these skies, and don't let anyone tell you other wise." "Iko, are you intentionally blushing?" "But am I really pretty? Even as a ship?" "The prettiest.

It's hard to explain what happens when jazz and punk fuse with a violin twist but it works. Probably because Anson Choi takes off his shirt while he's playing the saxophone. Whoever's not chatting up a Cadet or a girl from Darling House or playing chess with the guys is watching the band. I turn into a groupie.

See you on the other side of the screen, if you make it, earnest cyberspace cadet.

The eight-year-old beat your best cadet in hand-to-hand combat?” “So did the six-year-old girl, ma’am. Actually, she beat the instructor also.

Pero no olvide tampoco que lo primero que se aprende en el Ejército es a ser hombres. Los hombres fuman, se emborrachan, tiran contra, culean. Los cadetes saben que, si son descubiertos, se les expulsa. Ya han salido varios. Para hacerse hombre hay que correr riesgo, hay que ser audaz. Eso es el Ejército, Gamboa, no sólo la disciplina.

The sort of guardian you can hire is worth about as much as the sort of wife you can buy.

When the fight ends you can afford to relax. That’s the worst part. Winner or loser you have again eyes to see around you. Blood, butchered bodies, bodies pierced by arrows. You stir inside, your heart tightens, the feeling of loss wells up. The sense of smell is the next thing to revive, adding a new dimension of pain. I closed the eyes of the last cadet, blue eyes, unseeing, his body, so small, almost a child, the youngest cadets were all gone, their faces surprised in death. Cold lips never able again to kiss a girl. It’s then that the emptiness swallows you and you mourn inside. Damn you, Scharon. No! Damn you, Travellers.

Ciba: "I thought you were supposed to be some big brave war hero. What about that goddamn gold star you polish every night?" Natalya: "You know what this shiny piece of tin is, you fucking space cadet? It's the way stupid boys trick other stupid boys into dying for bullshit causes ... and I'm done acting like one of them.

You’re all cadets now.” Xaden’s voice carries out over the courtyard, stronger than the others. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.

And then Kassad was being helped out of his simulation creche at the Olympus Command School and the other cadets and instructors were rising, talking, laughing with one another--all seemingly unaware that the world had changed forever.

This school is based on the idea that a man who can think correctly will automatically behave morally—or

That,” Cobb said, “was somehow the most embarrassing and inspiring display I’ve ever seen out of cadets! You should be ashamed. And proud.

Are you accusing me of abusing my power where this cadet is concerned, Colonel Kaori?” Varrish moves to step toward us, but my bag is in the way. “Oh, no.” Kaori shakes his head. “I think you abuse your power in general.

A military hierarchy automatically places a premium on conservative behavior and dull conformance with precedent; it tends to penalize original and imaginative thinking. Commodore Arkwright realized that these tendencies are inherent and inescapable; he hoped to offset them a bit by setting up a course that could not be passed without original thinking.

Matt, you are suffering from a disease of youth—you expect moral problems to have nice, neat, black-and-white answers.

If I’ve reached the place where I’m a good influence on anybody, it’s time I cultivated some new vices.

I always said that this cadet from Gascony was a well of wisdom," murmured Athos;

A weed doesn’t care if it is beautiful or not. It only cares that it survives.

That is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.

Non cadete per le scale, evitate gli oggetti taglienti e soprattutto guardatevi dalle persone poco raccomandabili, d'accordo?

Don’t believe everything you think. Chief Inspector Gamache wrote that on the board for the incoming cadets at the start of every year at the Sûreté academy, and it stayed there all year.

Leurs regards se croisèrent et dans les yeux de son cadet il discerna ce qu'il avait déjà remarqué dans les yeux de certains patients: la tristesse de ceux qui n'ont jamais guéri de leur enfance.

Men on the surface of a planet are as helpless against men in spaceships as a man would be trying to conduct a rock-throwing fight from the bottom of a well. The man at the top of the well has gravity working for him.

They flew her,” Matt pointed out. “Sure they did—and my hat’s off to them. But it takes heroes to fly a box as primitive as this and I’m not the hero type.

She might get high enough to crash—no higher.

The greatest hero of all time is the everyday hero, the one who helps others without expecting anything in return.

I’m striving to be better for you just like I promised, but I need you to know that monster is still there, screaming to use every ruthless part of me to get your words back. —Recovered Correspondence of Lieutenant Xaden Riorson to Cadet Violet Sorrengail

Jasper set an intercepting course towards that Rhylonian Star Duster. Maybe we can catch them on their blind side.” “Doesn’t this ship have a cloak?” Jaq asks. “Miss Synergy, I don’t know what they teach now a’days at the Academy, but ships do not wear clothes.

War is a primarily a game of skill. It is a Contest of mind matched against mind, tactics matched against tactics. But there is also an element of chance that is more suited to games of cards or dice. A wise tactician studies those games, as well, and learns from them. The first lesson of card games is that the cards cannot be played in random order. Only when laid down properly can victory be achieved. In this case, there were but three cards. The first was played at the encampment. The result was entrance to the Strikefast. The second was played aboard ship. The result was promise of passage to Coruscant, and the assignment of Cadet Vanto as my translator. The third was a name: Anakin Skywalker.

A life path may change because of important decisions or events. Those were what drove my current path. But sometimes the smallest event can also drive a turn. In the case of Eli Vanto, that force was a single, overheard word. Chiss. Where had Cadet Vanto heard that name? What did it mean to him? He had already spoken one reason, but there might well be others. Indeed, the full truth might have several layers. But what were they? On a ship as large as this, there was only one practical way to find out. Thus did my path take yet another turn. As, certainly, did his.

Gentlemen,” he said, “I am a simple soldier. When I was a cadet at Norwich, I was told, and I believed, and my subsequent career has proven true, that the essence of command is to make sure the troops have confidence in what they are doing. Troops must have faith in their officers Officers build and maintain that faith in a very simple manner: They never lie to their troops; they never ask them to do something they cannot do themselves, or are unwilling to do themselves; and they never partake of creature comforts until the last private in the rear rank has that creature comfort. If you’ll keep that in mind, I’m sure that we’ll get along.

Today I get 100 times more done with 100 times less effort. What’s my secret? I learned to stop being a cadet and start being a general.

We are a volley of bullets, sing the newest cadets, we are cannonballs. We are the tip of the sword.

It's only numbers, cadet…Pure math. You have to accustom yourself to thinking that way

It's only numbers, cadet…Pure math. You have to accustom yourself to thinking that way.

Don't you look handsome.' 'I know.' He preens sarcastically, straightening his sash over a midnight-black doublet. 'I've heard healer cadets have a thing for riders.

wonder if he was really suited to the career for which he was preparing. His academy’s chaplain happened to see a book of Rilke’s poems in the cadet’s hands.

Jasper!” Casey shouts, startling the young woman. “My cargo is talking to me!

and without taking along a Cadet who will change the way I breathe for the rest of my life

Ni en la guerra debe haber muertos inutiles. Usted me entiende, vaya al colegio y trate en el futuro de que la muerte del cadete Arana sirve para algo.

Friendship is like a carriage. It does not drive itself. Particularly when the road gets rocky.

The newest crop of cadets grow wild in their urgency to prove themselves.

Son los cadetes de la Gascuña que a Carbón tienen por capitán; son quimeristas, son embusteros; y a la vez nobles, firmes y enteros, blasón viviente por doquier van, son los cadetes de la Gascuña, que a Carbón tienen por capitán. Ojos de buitre, pies de cigüeña, dientes de lobo, fiero ademán; cuando arremeten a la canalla, no ciñen casco ni fina malla: rotos chambergos luciendo van… Ojos de buitre, pies de cigüeña, dientes de lobo, fiero ademán. Punza-barrigas y Rompe-hocicos son dulces motes que ellos se dan. Ebrios de gloria, sueñan conquistas, corren garitos, dan entrevistas; donde hayan riñas, allí estarán… Punza-barrigas y Rompe-hocicos son dulces motes que ellos se dan. Son los cadetes de la Gascuña que a Carbón tienen por capitán. Tras las coquetas corren ansiosos, hacen cornudos a los celosos; su gloria al viento los parches dan. ¡Son los cadetes de la Gascuña que a Carbón tienen por capitán!

something so single-minded. Never has he felt such a hunger to belong. In the rows of dormitories are cadets who talk of alpine skiing, of duels, of jazz clubs and governesses and boar hunting; boys who employ curse words with virtuosic skill and boys who talk about cigarettes named for cinema stars; boys who speak of “telephoning the colonel” and boys who have baronesses for mothers.

A portrait of the führer glowers over every classroom. Learning happens on backless benches, at wooden tables grooved by the boredom of countless boys before them—squires, monks, conscripts, cadets.

My mother used to say that if I couldn’t sleep I should count something that matters, anything but sheep. Count stars. Count Mercedes-Benzes. Count U.S. presidents. Count the years you have left to live. I might jump out the window, I thought, if I couldn’t sleep. I pulled the blanket up to my chest. I counted state capitals. I counted different kinds of flowers. I counted shades of blue. Cerulean. Cadet. Electric. Teal. Tiffany. Egyptian. Persian. Oxford. I didn’t sleep. I wouldn’t sleep. I couldn’t. I counted as many kinds of birds as I could think of. I counted TV shows from the eighties. I counted movies set in New York City. I counted famous people who committed suicide: Diane Arbus, the Hemingways, Marilyn Monroe, Sylvia Plath, van Gogh, Virginia Woolf. Poor Kurt Cobain. I counted the times I’d cried since my parents died. I counted the seconds passing. Time could go on forever like this, I thought again. Time would. Infinity loomed consistently and all at once, forever, with or without me. Amen.

I’m just wondering what our objective is, Lieutenant,” Han said. “What it always is, Cadet,” Bolandin said, a look of disbelief on his face. He looked as if Han had missed the first day of basic training. “To bring peace and prosperity to the planet. To install a regime loyal to the Emperor and eradicate the hostiles.” “But it’s their planet,” he objected. “We’re the hostiles.” The lieutenant got close to his face and squinted his eyes.

In the fall of 1969, a hundred Vassar students arrived from Poughkeepsie to preach peace and distribute daisies. They left a few hours later, frustrated by their inability to debate successfully against the cadets, who were well provisioned with statistics and syllogisms. One cadet graciously accepted a proffered flower, then ate it. Another excused himself from the picket line discussion by claiming that he was late for “poison gas class.

We can get through this place because we’re a team, Shoolan. And we have the Captain. These other people, they didn’t have the Captain.” Leilius sounded so sure. The kid was the most trusting, positive person Shanti had ever known. “Cadet, if you keep talking like that,” Sanders said in a voice that could cut through a monsoon and still reach the intended ear. “People are going to think God scooped out your brains and replaced them with rainbows and horse shit.

As I had discovered from watching cadets on the obstacle field, subjective confidence of traders is a feeling, not a judgment. Our understanding of cognitive ease and associative coherence locates subjective confidence firmly in System 1.

Entropy is the degree of randomness or disorder in a system, Doctor.” His eyes fix on Werner’s for a heartbeat, a glance both warm and chilling. “Disorder. You hear the commandant say it. You hear your bunk masters say it. There must be order. Life is chaos, gentlemen. And what we represent is an ordering to that chaos. Even down to the genes. We are ordering the evolution of the species. Winnowing out the inferior, the unruly, the chaff. This is the great project of the Reich, the greatest project human beings have ever embarked upon.” Hauptmann writes on the blackboard. The cadets inscribe the words into their composition books. The entropy of a closed system never decreases. Every process must by law decay.

Strictly speaking, the Patrol is not a military organization at all.” “Sir?” “I know, I know—you are trained to use weapons, you are under orders, you wear a uniform. But your purpose is not to fight, but to prevent fighting, by every possible means. The Patrol is not a fighting organization; it is the repository of weapons too dangerous to entrust to military men.

The next evening, Beckett had waited for Rick in his usual spot, head down and hands clasped in front like a condemned army cadet. As Rick approached, the sound of a solid punch suddenly snapped Beckett to attention. Blake stood in front Beckett with his arm in obvious recoil from the blow he’d landed on Rick. But instead of starting a brawl, Blake had assumed Beckett’s position, hands holding one another in submission. “I’d like to take Beckett’s beatings for tonight, if that would be acceptable,” he said.

to paraphrase Lincoln’s remark when Grant’s drinking was reported to him, if Collins did drink as heavily as alleged I would seriously advocate that the cadets in the Irish Army Staff college be instructed to partake of a few glasses of his favourite John Jameson

Cadets at West Point did not make music. The musicians in the dance band and the marching band were Regular Army enlisted men, members of the servant class. They were under orders to play music as written, note for note, and never mind how they felt about the music or about anything.

The odd agglomeration of Warshaws, the product of a long and determined program of overseas adoptions, with its combination of Jews and Koreans, intellectuals, space cadets, and sharpies, no two of them related by blood, seemed to offer me the best chance yet to wire my wandering meteor to the armillary sphere of a family.

There’s an old saying,” retired NYPD cop turned author Steve Osborne once told me, “that in police work, a cop ` s mouth is his greatest weapon. To go into a chaotic situation where everybody is yelling and screaming, sometimes there ` s alcohol, there ` s drugs involved—to be able to talk everybody down. When you see a real experienced cop do that, it’s a magical thing.” But as true as that is, the fact is that most cops are going to encounter these scenarios with little more training than I did—and I talk for a living! The typical cadet training involves sixty hours on how to use a gun and fifty-one hours on defensive tactics, but just eight hours on how to calm situations without force.

Dans l’automne de l’année 1816, John Melmoth, élève du collège de la Trinité, à Dublin, suspendit momentanément ses études pour visiter un oncle mourant, et de qui dépendaient toutes ses espérances de fortune. John, qui avait perdu ses parents, était le fils d’un cadet de famille, dont la fortune médiocre suffisait à peine pour payer les frais de son éducation ; mais son oncle était vieux, célibataire et riche. Depuis sa plus tendre enfance, John avait appris, de tous ceux qui l’entouraient, à regarder cet oncle avec ce sentiment qui attire et repousse à la fois, ce respect mêlé du désir de plaire, que l’on éprouve pour l’être qui tient en quelque sorte en ses mains le fil de notre existence.

Entropy is the degree of randomness or disorder in a system, Doctor.” His eyes fix on Werner’s for a heartbeat, a glance both warm and chilling. “Disorder. You hear the commandant say it. You hear your bunk masters say it. There must be order. Life is chaos, gentlemen. And what we represent is an ordering to that chaos. Even down to the genes. We are ordering the evolution of the species. Winnowing out the inferior, the unruly, the chaff. This is the great project of the Reich, the greatest project human beings have ever embarked upon.” Hauptmann writes on the blackboard. The cadets inscribe the words into their composition books. The entropy of a closed system never decreases. Every process must by law decay. The

Did you step in?' Dain demands. 'Did I what?' Xaden arches a dark brow and levels a look on Dain that would make a lesser person wither. 'Did I see her outnumbered and already wounded? Did I think her bravery was as admirable as it was fucking reckless?' He turns that stare on me, and I feel the impact all the way to my toes. 'And I would do it again.' I raise my chin. 'Well-the-fuck-aware,' Xaden roars, losing his temper for the first time since I met him on Parapet. I pull in a quick breath, and Xaden does the same, as if he's just as shocked by his outburst as I am. 'Did I see her fight off three bigger cadets?' His gaze pivots to Dain. 'Because the answer to all of those is yes. But you're asking the wrong question, Aetos. What you should be asking is if Sgaeyl saw it, too.

Churchill, sensitive to class considerations in his conduct of the war, instructed his generals and admirals to be careful in how they governed the armed forces. Early on, he warned the navy to be “particularly careful that class prejudice does not enter into these decisions” about selection of cadets for officer training at the Royal Naval College in Dartmouth, England. “Unless some better reasons are given to me,” he vowed, he would investigate the matter. The navy resisted this direction, so he did as promised and intervened directly. He even met with some of the candidates who had scored well on entrance examinations but had still been rejected. “I have seen the three candidates,” he informed the navy’s top officers. “It is quite true that A has a slightly cockney accent, and that the other two are the sons of a chief petty officer and an engineer in the merchant service. But the whole intention of competitive examination is to open the service to ability, irrespective of class or fortune.” Concluding that an injustice had been done, he ordered that the three be admitted to officer training. This was a lot of effort for someone trying to run a war and stave off invasion.

She points to where he went and looks to the neutral Baumen. “He—he did that to me on purpose! He’s insane. Literally, insane!” The munchkin just shrugs. “Welcome aboard!” and returns unconcerned to his work.

Miré a miss Baker, preguntándome qué sería lo que conseguía. Disfrutaba mirándola. Era una chica delgada, de pechos pequeños, que andaba muy derecha, algo que acentuaba echando los hombros hacia atrás como un cadete. Los ojos, grises, irritados por el sol, me correspondieron con igual curiosidad desde una cara triste, simpática, insatisfecha. Entonces me di cuenta de que la había visto antes en alguna parte, en persona o en una foto.

- Creo que hay que cambiar la mano de las recetas para el exito o el triunfo...Habria que escribir un libro util, al alcance de todos, de instrucciones para la derrota. Eso...porqueyo nole puedo enseniar a nadie a ganar al ajedrez ni a nada. Tendria que ser una especie de recetario del perdedor vocacional.Porque hoy,a quien le vas a enseniar a ganar? Y ya no hablaba de ajedrez, de truco,de gallo o de como pasarde cadete a jefe de seccion sin escalas. Hablaba de todo y algo mas: - Hay que enseniar a perder, viejo: con altura, con elegancia, con conviccion.Hay que escribir un Dale Carnegieal reves:"Como perder serguro" o "Derrotese usted mismo en los momentos libres", algo asi... Y seria un exito, porque le hablaria a la gente de lo que conoce. Eso necesitamos: un manual de perdedores. Y se tomo un mate frio, olvidado sobre la mesa, como si con eso subrayara algo de lo dicho,una verdad berreta, pero suya.

At the entrance of the Führerbunker, a dandelion pushed through the crack between cobblestones. The cadet did not notice that he stepped on it as they entered the bunker. A dark cloud of smoke rose from a burning ministry. Zeller fantasized that the filth that surrounded him was cleansed. He saw himself, a portly and tailored leader in a white uniform with gold epaulets, buttons, and stripes. He imagined himself in an immaculate, white city in Antarctica.

Lo sguardo delle donne assomiglia a certi congegni tranquilli in apparenza ma formidabili. Vi si passa vicino tutti i giorni pacificamente e impunemente, senza dubitare di nulla. Viene il momento in cui ci si dimentica anche che quella cosa è là. Si va, si viene, si sogna, si parla, si ride. A un tratto ci si sente presi! E' finita. Il congegno vi ha preso, lo sguardo vi ha catturato. Vi ha preso, non importa dove, né come, per una parte qualsiasi del vostro pensiero, per una distrazione. Un concatenamento di forze misteriose si impadronisce di voi. Vi dibattete invano. Non ci sono più soccorsi umani possibili. Cadete di ingranaggio in ingranaggio, di angoscia in angoscia, di tortura in tortura, voi, il vostro spirito, le vostre fortune, il vostro avvenire, l'anima vostra; e, a seconda che siate in potere di una creatura cattiva o di un nobile cuore, non uscirete da quella spaventosa macchina che sfigurato dalla vergogna o trasfigurato dalla passione.

Cadets who are successful at West Point arrive at the school armed with habits of mental and physical discipline. Those assets, however, only carry you so far. To succeed, they need a keystone habit that creates a culture—such as a daily gathering of like-minded friends—to help find the strength to overcome obstacles. Keystone habits transform us by creating cultures that make clear the values that, in the heat of a difficult decision or a moment of uncertainty, we might otherwise forget.

Good eyes, Cadet Sunborn,” she said. “Good shooting, both of you. We cannot risk both harpies and bandits with a force this size. We will do one more sweep of the forest and return home. Chaos-of-Battle, back in the trees. Sunborn, I want you to take four men and pack up the camp as quickly and quietly as you can.” “Commander!” said Luke. “What about—” “I don’t want to be protected by incompetents!” Elliot exclaimed, and looked around at the faces of the assembled troop. “Uh, no offence, everybody.

Once The Boo roamed this campus fierce, alert, and lion-voiced, and his wrath was a terrible thing. He could scream and rant and call us “bums” a thousand times, but he could not hide his clear and overwhelming love of the Corps. The Corps received that love, took it in, felt it in the deepest places, and now, tonight, we give it back at the school where we started out and we give it to The Boo, as a gift, because once, many years ago, The Boo loved us first, when we were cadets of boys and when we needed it the most.

Well, Metcalf, suppose you try keeping that stupid mouth of yours shut,and maybe that's the way you learn how. Now where were we? Read me back the last line." "'Read me back the last line,'" read back the corporal who could take shorthand. "Not my last line, stupid!" the colonel shouted. "Somebody else's." "'Read me back the last line,'" read back the corporal. "That's my last line again!" shrieked the colonel, turning purple with anger. "Oh, no, sir," corrected the corporal. "That's my last line. I read it to you just a moment ago. Don't you remember, sir? It was only a moment ago." "Oh, my God! Read me back his last line, stupid. Say, what the hell's your name, anyway?" "Popinjay, sir." "Well, you're next, Popinjay. As soon as this trial ends, your trial begins. Get it?" "Yes, sir. What will he be charged with?" "What the hell difference does that make? Did you hear what he asked me? You're going to learn, Popinjay - the minute we finish with Clevinger you're going to learn. Cadet Clevinger, what did - You are Cadet Clevinger, aren't you, and not Popinjay?" "Yes, sir." "Good. What did-" "I'm Popinjay, sir." "Popinjay. Is your father a millionaire, or a member of the Senate?" "No, sir." "Then you're up shit creek, Popinjay, without a paddle.He's not a general or a high-ranking member of the Administration, is he?" "No, sir." "That's good. What does your father do?" "He's dead, sir." "That's very good. You really are up the creek, Popinjay. Is Popinjay really your name? Just what the hell kind of name is Popinjay, anyway? I don't like it." "It's Popinjay''s name, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf explained.

Around this time he performed a ceremony that he had contemplated for some time. He asked Fred to compose a letter requesting a future president of the United States to appoint his grandson Ulysses (Fred’s son) as a West Point cadet. Grant summoned family members and doctors as witnesses before he affixed his signature to the document. It was such a solemn gesture for him that as he folded the paper, a hush gripped the room. In 1898 President William McKinley would honor the request by appointing Ulysses S. Grant III, later a major general, to the academy.

The witch’s weapon is fear. She aims to put as much into your heart as she can before she takes it. Either that or she’ll simply turn you to stone. If that sounds preferable to death, it is not. The skin hardens to rock. The blood stops flowing. The living flesh is petrified, but the mind is not.” The dull patter of rain was the only sound in the cavernous Armory. None of the girls moved. Most stared at the discarded weapons strewn across the floor. “The witch uses fear, but so do we. And there’s nothing she fears more than love.” She continued her slow patrol, locking eyes with whichever cadet was in front of her. “She has no answer for it. That is the magic of a Princess of the Shield. That is how you defeat a witch. Whoever scares the other in the core of her heart first, wins. That’s the game.

We should check the— What, damn it?” The tapping grows insistent, and I turn, intending to tell off the Cadet. Instead, I’m faced with a slave-girl looking up at me through impossibly long eyelashes. A heated, visceral shock flares through me at the clarity of her dark gold eyes. For a second, I forget my name. I’ve never seen her before, because if I had, I’d remember. Despite the heavy silver cuffs and high, painful-looking bun that mark all of Blackcliff’s drudges, nothing about her says slave. Her black dress fits her like a glove, sliding over every curve in a way that makes more than one head turn. Her full lips and fine, straight nose would be the envy of most girls, Scholar or not. I stare at her, realize I’m staring, tell myself to stop staring, and then keep staring. My breath falters, and my body, traitor that it is, tugs me forward until there are only inches between us. “Asp-aspirant

Cadets saavdhan,” our Squadron drill instructor shouted at us, and we all came to attention. “Saab, inka drill accha nahi hai. Poora 102 course kaamchor hai, inko khub ragda do,” he said (their drill movements are pathetic, entire 102 course is a shammer, roger them nicely). Then moving towards one of us in the second file, he shouted, “Ye tumhaari belt hai ki ghaagre ka naada?” Apparently, one of us had a loose belt. In fact, it was probably just fine but ideally, the belt was supposed to be as tight as physically possible. “Saab,” D-Lo said to our Squadron instructor, grabbing the cadet from his belt from the front and shaking his entire body from the middle. “Poora ka poora Squadron, to Zero-point,” he said angrily (send the entire Squadron to Zero-point). Saying that, he moved ahead to attack the next Squadron. “Zero-point poora course,” our Squadron instructor screamed at all of us, and we sprinted towards this not-so-coveted place, with him following us.

I can hardly believe that our nation’s policy is to seek peace by going to war. It seems that President Donald J. Trump has done everything in his power to divert our attention away from the fact that the FBI is investigating his association with Russia during his campaign for office. For several weeks now he has been sabre rattling and taking an extremely controversial stance, first with Syria and Afghanistan and now with North Korea. The rhetoric has been the same, accusing others for our failed policy and threatening to take autonomous military action to attain peace in our time. This gunboat diplomacy is wrong. There is no doubt that Secretaries Kelly, Mattis, and other retired military personnel in the Trump Administration are personally tough. However, most people who have served in the military are not eager to send our young men and women to fight, if it is not necessary. Despite what may have been said to the contrary, our military leaders, active or retired, are most often the ones most respectful of international law. Although the military is the tip of the spear for our country, and the forces of civilization, it should not be the first tool to be used. Bloodshed should only be considered as a last resort and definitely never used as the first option. As the leader of the free world, we should stand our ground but be prepared to seek peace through restraint. This is not the time to exercise false pride! Unfortunately the Trump administration informed four top State Department management officials that their services were no longer needed as part of an effort to "clean house." Patrick Kennedy, served for nine years as the “Undersecretary for Management,” “Assistant Secretaries for Administration and Consular Affairs” Joyce Anne Barr and Michele Bond, as well as “Ambassador” Gentry Smith, director of the Office for Foreign Missions. Most of the United States Ambassadors to foreign countries have also been dismissed, including the ones to South Korea and Japan. This leaves the United States without the means of exercising diplomacy rapidly, when needed. These positions are political appointments, and require the President’s nomination and the Senate’s confirmation. This has not happened! Moreover, diplomatically our country is severely handicapped at a time when tensions are as hot as any time since the Cold War. Without following expert advice or consent and the necessary input from the Unites States Congress, the decisions are all being made by a man who claims to know more than the generals do, yet he has only the military experience of a cadet at “New York Military Academy.” A private school he attended as a high school student, from 1959 to 1964. At that time, he received educational and medical deferments from the Vietnam War draft. Trump said that the school provided him with “more training than a lot of the guys that go into the military.” His counterpart the unhinged Kim Jong-un has played with what he considers his country’s military toys, since April 11th of 2012. To think that these are the two world leaders, protecting the planet from a nuclear holocaust….

A Poetry Reading at West Point I read to the entire plebe class, in two batches. Twice the hall filled with bodies dressed alike, each toting a copy of my book. What would my shrink say, if I had one, about such a dream, if it were a dream? Question and answer time. “Sir,” a cadet yelled from the balcony, and gave his name and rank, and then, closing his parentheses, yelled “Sir” again. “Why do your poems give me a headache when I try to understand them?” he asked. “Do you want that?” I have a gift for gentle jokes to defuse tension, but this was not the time to use it. “I try to write as well as I can what it feels like to be human,” I started, picking my way care- fully, for he and I were, after all, pained by the same dumb longings. “I try to say what I don’t know how to say, but of course I can’t get much of it down at all.” By now I was sweating bullets. “I don’t want my poems to be hard, unless the truth is, if there is a truth.” Silence hung in the hall like a heavy fabric. My own head ached. “Sir,” he yelled. “Thank you. Sir.

Speech at the annual rally of young officer cadets at the Berlin Sportpalast December 18, 1940 If somebody characterizes the morale of a company as bad, then the company leader is responsible for this. If somebody characterizes the morale of a regiment as bad, then the regiment’s commander is responsible for this. A leader is always responsible for his followers. He passes his own spirit on to his followers. If he shows signs of weakness, then his followers will also become weak. If he shows signs of resistance and valor, then his followers will resist and will be valiant. If he shows signs of heroism, then his followers will die heroically. If he shows signs of cowardly capitulation, then his followers will capitulate. The leader of any organization is not only the bearer of its shield. He also fashions its character, its valor. And, in turn, in this sense, he is also responsible for its defeatism. You must hence pass on the faith and insights which you possess to your followers. They must believe in you. And you must always and at all times be the banner, the living banner, behind which they march, an example in all things to the soldier. If this idea continues to suffuse the entire Wehrmacht to the extent which we are already witnessing today to our great joy and pride-then this Wehrmacht will be invincible. And then this age in which we live will not only be a great age for all of us now, but it will also be regarded as an age of enlightenment by future generations. Just as we think with shame of the years 1918, 1919, 1920, 1921, and so on, so posterity will think with pride and joy of the age we are fashioning at present. Then, we will have done our duty. A man cannot expect more from life. Everyone will die sooner or later. Thus, there is only one question: how did he live his life? Did he live decently? Did he live courageously? Did he live faithfully and did he fulfill his duties? Or did he live like a drone among his Volk? Did he live as one of those who go with the flow of lethargy or apathy? That is the question. And if there is one reason for living, then it is to be able to say in one’s old age: “For my part, I did my duty. I always was indifferent to what the others did.” When one day you look back to this age, I wish that you will be able to do one thing: to look back with a feeling of pride: “Back then, when the Greater German Reich was fighting for its destiny, I was a soldier. I was an officer back then and I did my duty for this eternal Germany!

The first movie star I met was Norma Shearer. I was eight years old at the time and going to school with Irving Thalberg Jr. His father, the longtime production chief at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, devoted a large part of his creative life to making Norma a star, and he succeeded splendidly. Unfortunately, Thalberg had died suddenly in 1936, and his wife's career had begun to slowly deflate. Just like kids everywhere else, Hollywood kids had playdates at each other's houses, and one day I went to the Thalberg house in Santa Monica, where Irving Sr. had died eighteen months before. Norma was in bed, where, I was given to understand, she spent quite a bit of time so that on those occasions when she worked or went out in public she would look as rested as possible. She was making Marie Antoinette at the time, and to see her in the flesh was overwhelming. She very kindly autographed a picture for me, which I still have: "To Cadet Wagner, with my very best wishes. Norma Shearer." Years later I would be with her and Martin Arrouge, her second husband, at Sun Valley. No matter who the nominal hostess was, Norma was always the queen, and no matter what time the party was to begin, Norma was always late, because she would sit for hours—hours!—to do her makeup, then make the grand entrance. She was always and forever the star. She had to be that way, really, because she became a star by force of will—hers and Thalberg's. Better-looking on the screen than in life, Norma Shearer was certainly not a beauty on the level of Paulette Goddard, who didn't need makeup, didn't need anything. Paulette could simply toss her hair and walk out the front door, and strong men grew weak in the knees. Norma found the perfect husband in Martin. He was a lovely man, a really fine athlete—Martin was a superb skier—and totally devoted to her. In the circles they moved in, there were always backbiting comments when a woman married a younger man—" the stud ski instructor," that sort of thing. But Martin, who was twelve years younger than Norma and was indeed a ski instructor, never acknowledged any of that and was a thorough gentleman all his life. He had a superficial facial resemblance to Irving Thalberg, but Thalberg had a rheumatic heart and was a thin, nonathletic kind of man—intellectually vital, but physically weak. Martin was just the opposite—strong and virile, with a high energy level. Coming after years of being married to Thalberg and having to worry about his health, Martin must have been a delicious change for Norma.

Clevinger was one of those people with lots of intelligence and no brains, and everyone knew it except those who soon found it out. In short, he was a dope. He often looked to Yossarian like one of those people hanging around modern museums with both eyes together on one side of a face. It was an illusion, of course, generated by Clevinger’s predilection for staring fixedly at one side of a question and never seeing the other side at all. Politically, he was a humanitarian who did know right from left and was trapped uncomfortably between the two. He was constantly defending his Communist friends to his right-wing enemies and his right-wing friends to his Communist enemies, and he was thoroughly detested by both groups, who never defended him to anyone because they thought he was a dope. He was a very serious, very earnest and very conscientious dope. It was impossible to go to a movie with him without getting involved afterwards in a discussion on empathy, Aristotle, universals, messages and the obligations of the cinema as an art form in a materialistic society. Girls he took to the theater had to wait until the first intermission to find out from him whether or not they were seeing a good or a bad play, and then found out at once. He was a militant idealist who crusaded against racial bigotry by growing faint in its presence. He knew everything about literature except how to enjoy it. Yossarian tried to help him. ‘Don’t be a dope,’ he had counseled Clevinger when they were both at cadet school in Santa Ana, California.

There’s more, Anna. When we first got to California,” she says, “you asked me if I remembered your birthday party.” I nod, picking at a thread on her comforter. “I did remember. Matt was acting like such a space cadet that night after we got home – like he was floating. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out, but of all the things that he could have been thinking about, you were the last – I mean, my mind just didn’t even go there. You were like our sister.” “But I–” “Wait – let me get this out.” She looks at me hard, her broken wing eyebrow trembling to keep the tears back. “After I brushed my teeth, I walked into his room. He was sitting on his bed, playing with that blue glass necklace he always wore, a big smile on his face. Remember the necklace?” The necklace. “Of course.” “I asked him what was so funny. He jumped a little, not knowing I’d been watching him smile there like a goofy little kid. He said it was nothing – just that he had fun at the party. And I believed him, all the way up until the day I read your journal. That’s when it all made sense. All the times he’d ask me about who you liked at school, or who wanted to take you to whatever dance.” She’s quiet as I digest her story, putting the pieces together to form a complete whole from the missing half that’s haunted me since that night – how did he really feel about me? Was it just one stupid moment, perpetuated a little too long, only to be forgotten as quickly as it came? As soon as he went away to school? “I was in love with him forever – since I was, like, ten,” I confess. “Yeah,” she says. “You both were in love. I know that now. We were all so close, you know? I just didn’t see it coming until I read your – I’m sorry, Anna.” I close my eyes, fighting back the image of her hand on my journal. “It’s okay.