Gates of Fire

by Steven Pressfield

“You have never tasted freedom, friend,” Dienekes spoke, “or you would know it is purchased not with gold, but steel.”

As all born teachers, he was primarily a student.

“Habit will be your champion. When you train the mind to think one way and one way only, when you refuse to allow it to think in another, that will produce great strength in battle.”

I saw her shoulders straighten then, as her will brought to heel the gallant but impossible impulse of her heart. “Your cousin will learn where your body lies, and with what honor you perished. By Helen and the Twins, I swear this.” The lady rose from her bench of oak. The interview was over. She had become again a Spartan.

“Men’s pain is lightly borne and swiftly over. Our wounds are of the flesh, which is nothing; women’s is of the heart—sorrow unending, far more bitter to bear.” Leonidas gestured to the wives and mothers assembled along the still-shadowed slopes. “Learn from them, brothers, from their pain in childbirth which the gods have ordained immutable. Bear witness to that lesson they teach: nothing good in life comes but at a price. Sweetest of all is liberty. This we have chosen and this we pay for.

“The opposite of fear,” Dienekes said, “is love.”