The inspiration of a noble cause enables men to do things they did not dream themselves capable of before

A radiant fellowship of the fallen.

I never could be a partisan leader - a man of one idea.

The word was enough. It ran like fire along the line, from man to man, and rose into a shout, with which they sprang forward upon the enemy, now not 30 yards away.

It is something great and greatening to cherish an ideal to act in the light of truth that is far-away and far above to set aside the near advantage, the momentary pleasure the snatching of seeming good to self and to act for remoter ends, for higher good, and for interests other than our own.

Let me say no danger and no hardship ever makes me wish to get back to that college life again.

I know in whom all my highest hopes and dearest joys are centered. I know in whom my whole heart can rest — so sweetly and so surely.

We pass now quickly from each other's sight but I know full well that where beyond these passing scenes you shall be, there will be Heaven.

But the cause for which we fought was higher our thought wider... That thought was our power.

We know not of the future and cannot plan for it much.

The edge of the conflict swayed to and fro, with wild whirlpools and eddies. At times I saw around me more of the enemy than of my own men gaps opening, swallowing, closing again with sharp convulsive energy. All around, a strange, mingled roar.

The power of noble deeds is to be preserved and passed on to the future.

Heroism is latent in every human soul - However humble or unknown, they (the veterans) have renounced what are accounted pleasures and cheerfully undertaken all the self-denials - privations, toils, dangers, sufferings, sicknesses, mutilations, life-long hurts and losses, death itself - for some great good, dimly seen but dearly held.

He had somehow, with all his modesty, the rare faculty of controlling his superiors as well as his subordinates. He outfaced Stanton, captivated the President, and even compelled acquiescence or silence from that dread source of paralyzing power, the Congressional Committee on the Conduct of the War.

The pageant has passed. That day is over. But we linger, loath to think we shall see them no more together - these men, these horses, these colors afield.