Dalton Trumbo Quotes

Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle, Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them?

To die for one's country is such a worthy fate that all compete for so beautiful a death.

If I die, what a beautiful death.

Man's life is short; and therefore an honorable death is his immortality.

Only in death will we have our own names since only in death are we no longer part of the effort. In death we become heroes.

Men are never really willing to die except for the sake of freedom: therefore they do not believe in dying completely.

Men, today we die a little.

You shall hear a good account of me or of my death.

You don't send a man to his death because you want a hero.

A man must be willing to die for justice. Death is an inescapable reality and men die daily, but good deeds live forever.

If you wish to make a man look noble, your best course is to kill him. What superiority he may have inherited from his race, what superiority nature may have personally gifted him with, comes out in death.

A glorious death is his Who for his country falls.

It is a sweet and glorious thing to die for one's country. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

The soldier going down and the cause of freedom never dies—immortality is his.

You can always hear the people who are willing to sacrifice somebody else's life. They're plenty loud and they talk all the time. You can find them in churches and schools and newspapers and legislatures and congress. That's their business. They sound wonderful. Death before dishonor. This ground sanctified by blood. These men who died so gloriously. They shall not have died in vain. Our noble dead.

Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.

I long to die for such a true cause; I wish to expire on the bed of glory; I wish to perish at my post.

Send me six hundred men who know how to die

There may be no single thing that can teach us more about life than death.

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.

Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think or bravely die?

I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? "For beauty," I replied. "And I for truth, the two are one; We brethren are," he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.

It is not dying, but living, that is a preparation for Death.

To die is only to be as we were before we were born; yet no one feels any remorse, or regret, or repugnance, in contemplating this last idea.