“Perhaps this is our strange and haunting paradox here in America -- that we are fixed and certain only when we are in movement. At any rate, that is how it seemed to young George Webber, who was never so assured of his purpose as when he was going somewhere on a train. And he never had the sense of home so much as when he felt that he was going there. It was only when he got there that his homelessness began.”

“He always lived in his head. He never cared about how things were, only how they would be, someday, when he had everything he wanted. When we had everything we wanted.”

“He was going to make this happen. His feet and his head was set, and when he got that way, he always did what he said he was going to do. It was his pride. The only one he had.”

“Though our brother is upon the rack, as long as we ourselves are at ease, our senses will never inform us of what he suffers. They never did and never can carry us beyond our own persons, and it is by the imagination only that we form any conception of what are his sensations...His agonies, when they are thus brought home to ourselves, when we have this adopted and made them our own, begin at last to affect us, and we then tremble and shudder at the thought of what he feels.”

“The only shame George Webber felt was that at one time in his life, for however short a period, he broke bread and sat at the same table with any man when the living warmth of friendship was not there; or that he ever traded upon the toil of his brain and the blood of his heart to get the body of a scented whore that might have been better got in a brothel for some greasy coins. This was the only shame he felt. And this shame was so great in him that he wondered if all his life thereafter would be long enough to wash out of his brain and blood the last pollution of its loathsome taint.”

“Somewhere, there is a Moatengator trained to kill you. He was trained with minimal food, water or sleep. He was trained day and night to think, to lead, and to survive under conditions so extreme, you might find them comical. He learned more about himself and camaraderie on his first trip into the jungle than most men learn in a lifetime. The only thing clean on him is his weapon. He doesn't worry about what workout to do - his ruck weighs what it weighs. His runs ends when it ends. This Moatengator is not concerned about 'how hard it is;' he knows either he wins or he may die and so may his Brothers. He doesn't go home at 17:00, he is always at home. He knows only the jungle, his rifle and the Moatengator brotherhood.”