you want the truth? you can't handle the truth. son we live in a world with walls, and these walls have to be guarded by men with guns. who's gonna do it ? you, you leutenant weinberg? you weep for santiago and curse the marines. you have that luxury, you have the luxury of not knowing what i know. private santiago's death , while tragic probably saved lives, and that my existence while gross and incomprehensive to you saves lives. you don't want the truth, deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall , you need me on that wall. we use words like honor , code , loyalty. we use these words as a backbone of a lifetime spent defending something, you use them as a punchline. i have neither the time or the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the very blanket of protection that i provide, and then questions the manner in which i provide it. i'd rather you just say thank-you and go on your way.
