“War is hell.”

This war differs from other wars, in this particular. We are not fighting armies but a hostile people, and must make old and young, rich and poor, feel the hard hand of war.

Every attempt to make war easy and safe will result in humiliation and disaster.

I think I understand what military fame is; to be killed on the field of battle and have your name misspelled in the newspapers.

I will answer that war is war, and not popularity seeking.

Every change in the rules which impairs the principle weakens the army.

It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell.

I hate newspapermen. They come into camp and pick up their camp rumors and print them as facts. I regard them as spies, which, in truth, they are.

An Army is a collection of armed men obliged to obey one man.

Fear is the beginning of wisdom.

There’s many a boy here today who looks on war as all glory but it is all hell.

I make up my opinions from facts and reasoning, and not to suit any body but myself.

The voice of the people is the voice of humbug.

War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.

I will accept no commission that would tend to create a rivalry with Grant.

War is the remedy that our enemies have chosen, and I say let us give them all they want.

I want him to hold what he has earned and got. I have all the rank I want.