“And what other kind of man would you want leading you into battle?” he says, reading my Noise. “What other kind of man is suitable for war?”A monster, I think, remembering what Ben told me once. War makes monsters of men.“Wrong,” says the Mayor. “It’s war that makes us men in the first place. Until there’s war, we are only children.”Another blast of the horn comes roaring down at us, so loud it nearly takes our heads off and it puts the army off its stride for a second or two.We look up the road to the bottom of the hill. We see Spackle torches gathering there to meet us.“Ready to grow up, Todd?” the Mayor asks.”

“A monster, I think, remembering what Ben told me once. War makes Monsters of Men.”

“We were king’s men, knights, and heroes . . . but some knights are dark and full of terror, my lady. War makes monsters of us all.”“Are you saying you are monsters?”“I am saying we are human. You are not the only one with wounds, Lady Brienne”

“War is like a monster," he says, almost to himself. "War is the devil. It starts and it consumes and it grows and grows and grows." He's looking at me now. "And otherwise normal men become monsters, too.”

“It makes no difference what men think of war, said the judge. War endures. As well ask men what they think of stone. War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner. That is the way it was and will be. That way and not some other way.”

“While I fold laundry I memorize things for school, dates of wars: French ones, African ones, Russian ones, battles of all ugly kinds. It's a shame to have us hopeful young students learn these horrible things. Exactly the kind of behaving they have told us over and over again not to do is what the history class is full of, full-grown adults making these wars: killing each other for land, for religions, for greed and more greed, Why bother to have children and educate them and invent things to make their lives better, just to send them off to war and get slaughtered?”