Sparks: I survived a missile strike in the Strait of Hormuz, but my friend has not been found

Fortune cares not for a man's first voyage, nor for his last; she strikes where she pleases, reminding us that life is always a journey to the grave.

Missiles are but collections of atoms, obeying the same laws of motion and collision as a falling stone, and the fear they inspire dissolves when one understands their material nature.

If war is dependent on peace, and peace on war, then where does either truly reside when examined without fixed views?

The cannon's roar may silence the oppressor, but it rarely establishes the just order that must follow, leaving only the endless cycle of new tyrannies.

Even in modern conflict, the habits of courage and desperation among common men reveal more about a nation's spirit than the declarations of its leaders.

The creators of these destructive instruments never truly reckon with the suffering they unleash upon the living, abandoning their creations to their own monstrous consequences.

An infinite universe cares not for the small skirmishes upon one tiny sphere, for countless worlds burn and break without our notice.

When the interests of merchants and warring states intertwine, the invisible hand guides not towards prosperity, but towards the tragic waste of human life and capital.

Another name, another date, another body lost at sea, proving again that the cost of conflict is always borne by the most vulnerable, regardless of the stated cause.

Things that are hateful: the sudden, jarring noise of an explosion, the unexpected absence of a familiar face, the coldness of news about distant sorrows.

When disputes over resources are cloaked in the language of divine will, the true cause of suffering is obscured, and reason is abandoned for rhetoric.