Jarhead Quotes

My despair is less despair than boredom and loneliness.

If while alive you hurt or disappoint people you love, there's no use continuing such behavior when you're dead.

Rig shook his head, sighed, and headed toward the kitchen. "Hank come fetch your wife. She's leaking all over one of my marines. They're not fucking wash-and-wear.

I have gone to war and now I can issue my complaint. I can sit on my porch and complain all day. And you must listen. Some of you will say to me: You signed the contract, you crying bitch, and you fought in a war because of your signature, no one held a gun to your head. This is true, but because I signed the contract and fulfilled my obligation to fight one of America’s wars, I am entitled to speak, to say, I belong to a fucked situation.

Every war is different. Every war is the same.

The officers shook hands, and the sniper gave a millimetric nod, which Reacher returned, equally briefly, which for two alleged snipers was effusive, and for a dogface and a jarhead meeting for the first time was practically like rolling around on the floor in an ecstatic bear hug.

It occured to me that we will never be young again.

We are trained fighting machines. Peace is not an option for us. We’re jarheads. What the hell do we know about peace?

Some wars are unavoidable and need well be fought, but this doesn't erase warfare's waste. Sorry, we must say to the mothers whose son's die horribly. This will never end. Sorry.

It was easy to make fun of the marines when they weren't listening. In Holden's navy days, making fun of jarheads was as natural as cussing. But four marines had died getting him off the Donnager, and three of them had made a conscious decision to do so. Holden promised himself that he'd never make fun of them again.

It dosnt matter how many mr. and mrs. johnsons are anti war- the actuall killers who know how to use the weapons are not.

What, you think all jarheads are stupid?” Sparrow chuckled before going serious again. “All good soldiers are philosophers, same as a priest or a professor. You have to be when you deal with matters of life and death.

My combat action has commenced... I've pissed my pants, but only a little.

She’s my wife. Back off, jarhead,” he tossed back over his shoulder. Jared laughed, and it wasn’t a mean laugh. Cassie bit back a grin as he stepped back, giving Mitch room to turn around before stepping right back into his personal space. His smile was knowing and totally awesome. “Actually, she’s Cassie. She’s nobody’s wife, because the loser she was married to wasn’t smart enough to know just how awesome his wife was when he had her. So if that’s you, I’m sorry, bud. And I’m guessing it is, because only a moron who’s never served in uniform would call someone a jarhead. You gotta be a Marine to use that term, and only to another Marine. You fail on both points, but try harder next time.

Unlike the Marines, who are given macho monikers like “jarheads,” the Coast Guard had long been denigrated in military circles as fey “puddle jumpers.” But just as 9/11 brought a newfound respect to firemen, Katrina did the same for the reputation of the Coast Guard. At the peak of rescue operations they had 62 aircraft, 30 cutters, and 111 small boats stepping up in rescue and recovery operations. They did it all one person at a time.

Yeah, well your head is so big, you have to step into your shirts." "We all sprang from apes, jarhead, but you didn't spring far enough.

During the few months Troy had been back home, he’d told his friends about us, and so we quickly eased into the conversation as though we’d all known each other for many years. They embarrassed us with great thanks for having served overseas. They recounted combat events Troy had told them, and we realized by the context of their stories that Troy had made us heroes for his friends because we’d been heroes to him. At this point I was the saddest I’d yet been over Troy’s passing, because the true friend from war is the friend who obliterates his own story by telling the stories of others.

Was it Robert Stone who said the mind is a monkey? Sure it was, in Dog Soldiers. The one where Stone also said that men who shoot elephants with machine guns from Huey helicopters are just naturally going to want to get high. In Iraq it was camels the grunts and jarheads sometimes shot at. But yeah, while they were high.

By the time he got to Baghdad, the war was over. President Bush said so, from the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln. He said the mission was accomplished, and that made Billy and the jarheads in his regiment “peacekeepers.” In Baghdad he had felt welcomed, even loved. Women and children threw flowers. Men yelled nahn nihubu amerikaan, we love America.

When you fail, you disgrace yourself and others. When you succeed, be proud and others will be proud for you.

Such was the mistrust of the official line, so heavy was the spin, that with any new piece of information you learned to do a kind of mental arithmetic whereby you divided the information given by the speaker’s rank, multiplied by his or her time in-country, and subtracted based on the number of miles the speaker was distant from the fighting. From The Big Suck: Notes from the Jarhead Underground

Now I often think of the first time I received artillery fire, and the subsequent obliteration of the enemy observation post. I'll never know how many men manned the OP, but in memory I fix the number at two, and though at the time I was angry that the pompus captain took the handset from me and stole m y kills, I have lately been thankful he insisted on calling the fire mission, ans sometimes when I am feeling hopeful or even religious, I think that buy taking my two kills the pompous captain handed me life, some extra moments of living for myself or that I can offer others, though I have no idea to use or disuse these extra moments, or if I've wasted them already.

Rig looked over at Dick for a long minute and then shook his head and sighed, pushing the cake away. "I can't do this. Dick was right. I'm tearing us all apart and I hoped that... I wanted you two to be happy enough together that I wouldn't. All I could think in that ambulance was that I was losing you and it happened anyway. I'm sorry." "No!" Dick shook his head and took Rigger's hand. "You only lose us if you keep pushing us away." Rock didn't know what to say, he just knew he was more scared now than he had been when Julie had first called that night so many months ago now. He took Rigger's other hand and squeezed. "I'm a stubborn son of a bitch, Rig. I'm not going anywhere." "I don't know if I can stay, Blue." Grey eyes landed on him, filled with tears. "I'm lost and can't seem to figure my way home." Rig's hand was trembling, holding him tight. Rock thought it probably would have hurt less if Rigger had picked up the knife and stabbed him with it. He slid from his chair and pulled Rig's so he could kneel between his lover's legs. His hands found their way into Rigger's shorn hair. "I will do anything, Rabbit. Anything. But I can't let you go. P-please don't ask me to let you go." His voice broke and he laid his head down against Rigger's belly, arms wrapping around the too-thin waist.

Mr. and Mrs. Johnson in Omaha or San Francisco or Manhattan will watch the films and weep and decide once and for all that war is inhumane and terrible, and they will tell their friends at church and their family this, but Corporal Johnson at Camp Pendleton and Sergeant Johnson at Travis Air Force Base and Seaman Johnson at Coronado Naval Station and Spec 4 Johnson at Fort Bragg and Lance Corporal Swofford at Twentynine Palms Marine Corps Base watch the same films and are excited by them, because the magic brutality of the films celebrates the terrible and despicable beauty of their fighting skills. Fight, rape, war, pillage, burn. Filmic images of death and carnage are pornography for the military man; with film you are stroking his cock, tickling his balls with the pink feather of history, getting him ready for his real First Fuck.

Jane got tired of sitting near them and moved, closer to the jarhead. He seemed to be minding his own business, maybe he’d leave her alone. But the jarhead leaned in when she sat, a conspiratorial smile playing across his handsome features. “Didn’t know that when you built up enough seniority at the strip club, you get Tuesdays off, did you?” “Ouch,” Jane replied. “That’s kind of harsh.” The man blushed and Jane felt bad. “Harsh, but funny. They’re a trip. I hope I’m never so ridiculous in public when I decide to get married.” The

damned Marines have used something a little more subtle?” “I was reading about them,” Vili said. “One nickname for them is Jarheads and something about eating crayons. They aren’t known for their intelligence.

attacker had been unusually tall, with a steroid-poisoned wrestler’s build and what looked at a distance to be a high-and-tight jarhead recon haircut—shaven everywhere except the crown of his head, like a short Mohawk. He looked like an overweight Travis Bickle. I felt along the bridge of my nose. It wasn’t broken. No broken teeth either, though my upper lip was bleeding. I felt and tasted the blood. I took out my cell phone and hit redial, and when Garvin answered I said, “I have one more license plate for you.

It was easy to make fun of the marines when they weren’t listening. In Holden’s navy days, making fun of jarheads was as natural as cussing. But four marines had died getting him off the Donnager, and three of them had made a conscious decision to do so. Holden promised himself that he’d never make fun of them again. “We

want any of you jarheads to screw this up.

I’ll fix you up. Let me take it a lot shorter, give you a chance to catch up over here. I promise, it won’t be awful. You’d look good with shorter hair.” “Yeah, that’s what the Marine Corps thought. They thought I was cute as a button as a jarhead. Anything you do is fine. I appreciate it.” “You

How’s that beer?” Jack asked, dishtowel in hand, eyeing the nearly empty glass. “I’m good,” Ian said. “Just let me know,” he said, turning away. “Ah,” Ian said, getting his attention but not exactly calling him back. Jack turned, lifted an eyebrow. Silent. “She tell you to leave me alone?” A small huff of laughter escaped Jack. “Pal, the first thing you learn when you open a bar—talk if they talk, shut up if they don’t.” Ian tilted his head. Maybe he could stand this place once in a while. “She tried to explain me to the librarian in Eureka as an idiot savant.” Jack smiled and Ian felt an odd sensation—it was a funny story; he liked sharing a funny story. He used to make the guys laugh when he wasn’t making them work. “She tell you she was looking for me?” “She did.” For some reason unclear even to him, Ian did something he hadn’t done since finding himself in these mountains—he pushed on it a little bit. “She tell you anything about me?” “Couple of things.” “Like?” “Like, you and me—we were in Fallujah about the same time.” “Should’ve known. You have that jarhead look about you. Just so you’re clear—I don’t talk about that time.” Jack smiled lazily. “Just so you’re clear, neither do I.” *

Oh, a doctor,” Mike P., the more talkative of the two, drew out the last syllable like it was an expensive word as he shook Alex’s delicate hand. “She’s a lot prettier than that Jarhead you normally bring with you,” Mike P. told him with a nod. “Hey, now, no slamming Jarheads,” Alex warned, holding up a finger. “I come from a long, proud family of them.” After a pregnant pause, the men laughed with her. Alex had officially broken the ice. As

Sometimes I have to explain to those jarheads what ‘marine’ stands for: Muscles Are Required, Intelligence Not Essential. Just

want to have the NCOs start on their parade ASAP so we can see about rescuing some Jarheads before they go more feral than normal.

I like to fuck a lot and drop acid becomes one of our rallying cries, better than any Ohh-rah or Semper fi.

And as a young man raised on the films of the Vietnam War, I want ammunition and alcohol and dope, I want to screw some whores and kill some Iraqi motherfuckers.

Bullshit doesn’t suit you, jarhead.” I lightly grasp her chin, turn her face, and look her right in the eyes. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. I’m including myself in that statement, and I’m one smart motherfucker. I want you on this job. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you were perfect for it.” She stares back at me silently.

Oh, fuck!” Stupid useless, clueless, pathetic jarhead! “What? What’s wrong?” she asked nervously. “I forgot to give you the fucking ring. Fuck it! I wanted this to be so smooth. I said it enough times in my head.” She started to smile, and her hand covered her mouth as if she was holding back laughter. I couldn’t blame her—I was a freakin’ idiot.