I’m gonna tell you something, Flaca, and I want you to listen tight. May sound like I’m talkin’ about me. But I’m not. I’m talkin’ about you. As a matter of fact, I’m talkin’ about all people everywhere. When I come down here to Texas, I was lookin’ for somethin’. I didn’t know what. Seems like you added up my life and I spent it all either stompin’ other men or, in some cases, gettin’ stomped. Had me some money and had me some medals. But none of it seemed a lifetime worth of the pain of the mother that bore me. It was like I was empty. Well, I’m not empty anymore. That’s what’s important, to feel useful in this old world, to hit a lick against what’s wrong or to say a word for what’s right even though you get walloped for sayin’ that word. Now I may sound like a Bible beater yellin’ up a revival at a river crossing camp meeting, but that don’t change the truth none. There’s right and there’s wrong. You got to do one or the other. You do the one and you’re livin’. You do the other and you may be walkin’ around, but you’re dead as a beaver hat.
The Alamo, Davy Crockett