Quotes About Conflict

She wanted to cry again. She wanted to do nothing and forget those two calm strangers had ever said anything to her. But she had no choice now, did she? The secret had been thrust in her face. She couldn't put that horse back in the barn, to mix her metaphors. It was a parental paradox probably as old as time: She didn't want to know, but she did want to know. When

They stood there, the two of them—the mother of a dead boy holding firm to the boy who had killed him.

Mike did not reply, but both of them knew. The truth was, horrible as it might seem, that their interests and the Hills' interests might no longer be in harmony. Neither one of them wanted to say it. But they both knew. "Let's

Sometimes you get more ants with honey, but you should always pack a can of Raid.

You can't ride two horses with one behind.

Life started pissing on my husband like he was the only urinal in the club. And how does my little man react? He pounds the hell out of the one person who still cares about him. Ironic, don't you think?" Broome

My kick had landed on Bob's skull with force, jerking his head to the side. Bob's hands instinctively leapt off the steering wheel. The car veered sharply, sending Otto and me—and the gun—into a rolling heap. It was on.

She turned and stared at the young D.A. as though he were a bleeding boar and she was a panther with an industrial-sized case of piles.

Und so sagte ich ihr, dass ich ihrem Daddy wehtun müsste, damit wir fliehen könnten, und da trat ein Ausdruck in ihre Augen, den ich gut kannte. Denn trotz ihrer Wohlanständigkeit mochte Quilla June ihren gottesfürchtigen Daddy nicht besonders gern.

Tradition is not only bending down, or process of benign transmission. It is also a conflict between past genius and present aspiration in which the price is literary survival or canonical inclusion.

Wild with laughter, Twelfth Night is nevertheless almost always on the edge of violence.

In war, truth is the first casualty. —AESCHYLUS

War is a crime. Ask the infantry and ask the dead. —ERNEST HEMINGWAY

It was the final act of a North Vietnamese soldier who was killed. Before he died he took a hand grenade and held it against the stock of his weapon. Then he had gotten on his knees and bent over double. If anybody tried to get his weapon they were going to activate that hand grenade. When I saw the dedication of those two Vietnamese with their hand grenades, I said to myself: We are up against an enemy who is going to make this a very long year.

When you identify a toxic subordinate leader, remove them. If you cannot remove them, reassign them to a role where their toxicity can be minimized.

Dulce bellum inexpertis. ("War is delightful to those who have no experience of it.") —ERASMUS

Bernard Fall's Street Without Joy and

Army intelligence said the French owners paid the Viet Cong a million piasters a year in protection money and paid the Saigon government three million piasters a year in taxes. The plantation billed the U.S. government $50 for each tea bush and $250 for each rubber tree damaged by combat operations. Just one more incongruity.

Those who hated it the most—the professionally sensitive—were not, in the end, sensitive enough to differentiate between the war and the soldiers who had been ordered to fight it.

James A. Mullartey from our 1st Platoon made it back to our lines. His story: The NVA had been shooting our wounded. One came up to him, stuck a pistol in his mouth, and fired. The bullet exited the back of his throat, knocked him out and they left him for dead. He survived and when he woke up at night he started crawling to us.

When someone annoys you and you feel the ire rising within, you've got to ask yourself, "Is this guy worth it? Am I willing to stoop to his or her level?

EMMA: You know what I found out ... last night? He's betrayed me for years. He's had... other women for years. JERRY No? Good Lord. (Pause) But we betrayed him for years. EMMA And he betrayed me for years. JERRY Well I never knew that. EMMA Nor did I.

There never is any such thing as one truth to be found in dramatic art, there are many. These truths challenge each other, recoil from each other, reflect each other, ignore each other, tease each other, are blind to each other. Sometimes you feel you have the truth of a moment in your hand, then it slips through your fingers and is lost.

Asked at one point why he had slain so many of his neighbors, Unruh replied: "I'd have killed a thousand if I'd had bullets enough."[55]