When youre wounded and left on Afghanistans plains, and the women come out to cut up what remains, jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains and go to your gawd like a soldier. – Rudyard Kipling
Call a truce, then, to our labors — let us feast with friends and neighbors, and be merry as the custom of our caste; for if faint and forced the laughter, and if sadness follow after, we are richer by one mocking Christmas past. – Rudyard Kipling
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