A Few Good Men
You can't handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those
walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You,
Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom.
You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury.
You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death,
while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and
incomprehensible to you, saves lives...You don't want the truth. Because
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 the backbone to a life spent defending something. You
use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain
myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very
freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it! I'd rather
you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you
pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what
you think you're entitled to!
