It has turned out fortunate for me to-day that destiny appointed Braunau-on-the-Inn to be my birthplace. For that little town is situated just on the frontier between those two States the reunion of which seems, at least to us of the younger generation, a task to which we should devote our lives and in the pursuit of which every possible means should be employed. Continue reading “Mein Kampf – Volume I, Chapter I: In the Home Of My Parents”→
Mrs.Evans fach, you want butter again.
How will you pay for it now, little woman
With your husband out on strike, and full
Of the fiery language? Ay, I know him,
His head is full of fire and brimstone
And a lot of palaver about communism,
And me, little Dan the Grocer
Depending so much on private enterprise.
What, depending on the miners and their
Money too? O yes, in a way, Mrs. Evans,
Come tomorrow, little woman, and I’ll tell you then
What I have decided overnight.
Go home now and tell that rash red husband of yours
That your grocer cannot afford to go on strike
Or what would happen to the butter from Carmarthen?
Good day for now, Mrs.Evans fach.
The expression coup de grâce ( /ˌkuː də ˈɡrɑːs/; French: [ku də ɡʁɑs], “blow of mercy”) means a death blow intended to end the suffering of a wounded creature. The phrase can refer to the killing of civilians or soldiers, friends or enemies, with or without the consent of the sufferer.
It is often used figuratively to describe the last in a series of events which brings about the end of some entity; for example: “The business had been failing for years; the coup de grâce was the sudden jump in oil prices.
Winters: These men have been through the toughest training the Army has to offer, under the worst possible circumstances, and they volunteered for it.
Buck: Christ, Dick, I was just shooting craps with them.
Winters: You know why they volunteered? Because they knew that the man in the foxhole next to them would be the best. Not some draftee who’s going to get them killed.
Buck: Are you ticked because they like me? Because I’m spending time to get to know my soldiers. I mean, c’mon, you’ve been with them for two years? I’ve been here for six days.
Winters: You’re gambling, Buck.
Buck: So what? Soldiers do that. I don’t deserve a reprimand for it.
Winters: What if you’d won?
Winters: What if you’d won? Never put yourself in the position where you can take from these men.
Eastward they climb, black shapes against the grey
Of falling dusk, gone with the nodding day
From English fields.
Not theirs the sudden glow
Of triumph that their fighter-brothers know;
Only to fly through cloud, through storm, through Night
Unerring, and to keep their purpose bright,
Nor turn until, their dreadful duty done,
Westward they climb to race the awakened sun.