The coconut trees, lithe and graceful, crowd the beach like a minuet of slender elderly virgins adopting flippant poses.— William Manchester
The most inspiring William Manchester quotes that are guaranted to improve your brain
Men do not fight for flag or country, for the Marine Corps or glory or any other abstraction. They fight for one another. And if you came through this ordeal, you would age with dignity.
It was his [Gen. Douglas MacArthur's] relationship with the administration In Washington which became poisoned by his egomania. Link upon link the bond between events on the battlefield and his own ruin was forged, and, as is essential in genuine tragedy, the gods used the victim himself to forge the links.
But there are no loners. No man lives in a void. His every act is conditioned by his time and his society.
He [Gen. Douglas MacArthur] was a great thundering paradox of a man, noble and ignoble, inspiring and outrageous, arrogant and shy, the best of men and the worst of men, the most protean, most ridiculous, and most sublime.
He [Gen. Douglas MacArthur] never went to church, but he read the Bible every day and regarded himself as one of the world's two great defenders of Christendom. (The other was the pope.)
Japanese naval officers in dress whites are frequent guests at Pearl Harbor's officers' mess and are very polite. They always were. Except, of course, for that little interval there between 1941 and 1945.
An Edwardian lady in full dress was a wonder to behold, and her preparations for viewing were awesome.
They fought on with a devotion which would puzzle the generation of the 1980s.
More surprising, in many instances it would have baffled the men they themselves were before Pearl Harbor. Among MacArthur's ardent infantrymen were cooks, mechanics, pilots whose planes had been shot down, seamen whose ships had been sunk, and some civilian volunteers.
To the medieval mind the possibility of doubt did not exist.
I try to be as ruthless as possible. I ask myself of each sentence, "Is it clear? Is it true? Does it feel good?" And if it's not, then I rewrite it.
I came to a dead stop and began major revisions.
Sometimes these entailed the shredding of all existing manuscript for a fresh start - an inefficient way to write a book, though I found it exciting.
I wondered vaguely if this was when it would end, whether I would pull up tonight's darkness like a quilt and be dead and at peace evermore.
His [Gen. Douglas MacArthurs] twenty-two medals-thirteen of them for heroism-probably exceeded those of any other figure in American history. He seemed to seek death on battlefields.
Actors who have tried to play Churchill and MacArthur have failed abysmally because each of those men was a great actor playing himself.
It is true that despite occasional gleams of Churchillian eloquence he [Gen.
Douglas MacArthur] usually spoke poorly. He was far more effective in conversations a deux. But those who dismiss him as shallow because his rhetoric was fustian err.
The sum of a million facts is not the truth.
He was a great thundering paradox of a man.
A man's task is to find himself, and if he fails in this, it doesn't much matter what else he finds.
I realized that the worst thing that could happen to me was about to happen to me.
His [Gen. Douglas MacArthur's] own heroes were Lincoln and Washington, and in some ways he resembled them. Like them, he was slandered and misunderstood.
One strange feeling, which I remember clearly, was a powerful link with the slain, particularly those that had fallen within the past hour or two. There was so much death around that life seemed almost indecent. Some men's uniforms were soaked with gobs of blood. The ground was sodden with it. I killed, too.
The colors of the underwater rock [are] as pale and delicate as those in the wardrobe of an 18th-century marchioness.
As she sallied forth from her boudoir, you would never have guessed how quickly she could strip for action.