"A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn."

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My men have suffered greatly (from boredom), much blood has been shed (by mosquitoes), and I have swung my ax mightily (chopping firewood). Surely we have earned our place in the annals of history—for never has there been so little war in a war.

— Seth Grahame-Smith