“This "sir, yes sir" business, which would probably sound like horseshit to any civilian in his right mind, makes sense to Shaftoe and to the officers in a deep and important way. Like a lot of others, Shaftoe had trouble with military etiquette at first. He soaked up quite a bit of it growing up in a military family, but living the life was a different matter. Having now experienced all the phases of military existence except for the terminal ones (violent death, court-martial, retirement), he has come to understand the culture for what it is: a system of etiquette within which it becomes possible for groups of men to live together for years, travel to the ends of the earth, and do all kinds of incredibly weird shit without killing each other or completely losing their minds in the process. The extreme formality with which he addresses these officers carries an important subtext: your problem, sir, is deciding what you want me to do, and my problem, sir, is doing it. My gung-ho posture says that once you give the order I'm not going to bother you with any of the details--and your half of the bargain is you had better stay on your side of the line, sir, and not bother me with any of the chickenshit politics that you have to deal with for a living. The implied responsibility placed upon the officer's shoulders by the subordinate's unhesitating willingness to follow orders is a withering burden to any officer with half a brain, and Shaftoe has more than once seen seasoned noncoms reduce green lieutenants to quivering blobs simply by standing before them and agreeing, cheerfully, to carry out their orders.”

“Ronald Reagan has a stack of three-by-five cards in his lap. He skids up a new one: "What advice do you, as the youngest American fighting man ever to win both the Navy Cross and the Silver Star, have for any young marines on their way to Guadalcanal?"Shaftoe doesn't have to think very long. The memories are still as fresh as last night's eleventh nighmare: ten plucky Nips in Suicide Charge!"Just kill the one with the sword first.""Ah," Reagan says, raising his waxed and penciled eyebrows, and cocking his pompadour in Shaftoe's direction. "Smarrrt--you target them because they're the officers, right?""No, fuckhead!" Shaftoe yells. "You kill 'em because they've got fucking swords! You ever had anyone running at you waving a fucking sword?”

“Who are you?” he said. “And why are you shouting?”“I’m your first officer, sir,” said Slank. “Mr. Slank. I’m just relaying your orders to the crew.”“Ah,” said Pembridge.“The aft binnacle has been cast off, sir,” said Slank.“The what?” said Pembridge.“The aft binnacle,” said Slank. “As you ordered.”“I did?” said Pembridge, squinting suspiciously. “When?”“Just now, sir,” said Slank.Pembridge blinked at Slank.“Who are you, again?” he said.“You first officer, sir,” said Slank.Pembridge blinked again.“My head hurts,” he said.“Perhaps the captain would like to go to his cabin,” said Slank.“You don’t tell me was to do,” said Pembridge. “I’m the captain.”“Yes, sir,” said Slank.“I’m going to my cabin,” said Pembridge.”

“My men think you are dead now, and won’t waste balls on you,” Jack said. “In fact I have let you live, but for one purpose only: so that you can make your way back to Paris and tell them the following: that the deed you are about to witness was done for a woman, whose name I will not say, for she knows who she is; and that it was done by ‘Half-Cocked’ Jack Shaftoe, L’Emmerdeur, the King of the Vagabonds, Ali Zaybak: Quicksilver!”

“..this is just like life must be for about 99 percent of the people in the world. You're in this place. There's other people all around you, but they don't understand you and you don't understand them, but people do a lot of pointless babbling anyway. In order to stay alive, you have to spend all day every day doing stupid meaningless work. And the only way to get out of it is to quit, cut loose, take a flyer, and go off into the wicked world, where you will be swallowed up and never heard from again.”

“Inspector, there's no smoking allowed in here," said a uniformed officer who had been called to the scene.Cavuto waved to the drawers [at the morgue]. "Do you think they mind?"The officer shook his head. "No, sir."Cavuto blew a stream of smoke at Gilbert [a dead guy]. "And him, do you think he minds?"No, sir."And you, Patrolman Jeeter, you don't mind, do you?"Jeeter cleared his throat. "Uh...no, sir."Well, good," Cavuto said. "Look, on the side of the car, Jeeter. It says 'Protect and Serve' not 'Piss and Moan.'"Yes, sir.”

“Listen to me. I did not wish to be summoned by your Princess. Summoned, I did not wish to come. But having been summoned, and having come, I mean to give a good account of myself. That’s how I was taught by my father, and the men of his age who slew Kings and swept away not merely Governments but whole Systems of Thought, like Khans of the Mind. I would have my son in Boston know of my doings, and be proud of them, and carry my ways forward to another generation on another continent. Any opponent who does not know this about me, stands at a grave disadvantage; a disadvantage I am not above profiting from.”