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While I hate to cast aspersions on the humble army cutters, their knowledge tends toward the practical, and their approach is often... blunt. If the problem cannot be removed from the patient with a bone saw, they are often at a loss.

The name meant "Angel of Victory," which Jaffa supposed was appropriate enough. The Divine Hand himself had started the fashion for taking the names of angels when he'd called himself Vale-dan-Rahksa, the Angel of Vengeance. At the rate the Council was expanding, there would soon be a serious shortage of angels. Jaffa wondered what would happen when they ran out of manly, intimidating names and were reduced to naming themselves after the Angel of Sisterly Affection or the Angel of Small Crafts.

“You got rid of him?” “For the moment,” Winter said. “Nothing confuses an officer like violently agreeing with him.”

Paperwork. A mountain, a torrent of paper, a stack of things to read and sign that never shrank or ended. And, lurking behind, on, and around every sheet, the looming anxiety that while this one was just the latrine-digging rota, the next one might be important. Really, critically important, the kind of thing that would make future historians shake their heads and say, “If only d’Ivoire had read that report, all those lives might have been spared.”

As the Colonials settled down in Ashe-Katarion, Janus asked Marcus to come up with a detail of twenty men he thought he could trust to keep a secret. Marcus was tempted to reply that twenty men could keep a secret only if you sank nineteen of them in the river, and even then you’d have to keep an eye on the last one.

I think the general's job is harder than the painter's; canvas doesn't fight back, after all.