Quotes About Conflict

We are effectively destroying ourselves by violence masquerading as love.

The brotherhood of man is evoked by particular men according to their circumstances. But it seldom extends to all men. In the name of our freedom and our brotherhood we are prepared to blow up the other half of mankind and to be blown up in our turn.

Have you ever asked yourself, do monsters make war, or does war make monsters?

Imagine if [Juliet] woke up and he was still alive, but..." She swallowed, waiting out a tremor in her voice. "But [Romeo] had killed her whole family. And burned her city. And killed and enslaved her people.

What can a soldier do when mercy is treason, and he is alone in it?

Take up a weapon and you become an instrument with as pure a purpose as the weapon itself: to find arteries and open them, limbs and sever them; to take what is alive and deliver it unto death.

The choice I mean is to protect our own innocents from the seraphim, instead of slaughtering theirs." "There are no innocent seraphim, said the wolf." "That's what they say when they kill our children.

She had inherited a story that was strewn with corpses and clotted with enmity, and was only trying to stay alive in it.

The world was carnage. You either suffered it or inflicted it.

These soldiers had done what they had done, and been done unto in return. This was how it went. In the cycle of slaughter, reprisal begat reprisal, forever.

And just so you know, the invaders are always the bad guys. Always.

What are we fighting for? What are we killing for? What do you see when you look into the future?

What's my problem? I have so many, but violent tendencies and probable demonic origins are the ones that should concern you.

When he started to renew his protest, she held up a hand. "What are you more afraid of: them or me with low blood sugar?

Once upon a time, an angel and a devil fell in love and dared to imagine a new way of living—one without massacres and torn throats and bonfires of the fallen, without revenants or bastard armies or children ripped from their mothers' arms to take their turn in the killing and dying. This was not that world.

The youth are the spoils of war.

Te has preguntado alguna vez si son los monstruos los que provocan la guerra, o si es la guerra la que genera monstruos

It's the fuel for everything our people have done to each other since the beginning. That's what makes peace seem impossible. How can you blame someone for wanting to kill the killer of their loved ones? How can you fault people for what they do in grief?

I kept thinking about that drawing in the war council, and our part in all of this. We cheat the bowl. We keep filling it back up, and the monsters keep stabbing their giant forks in, and because of us, there's always more for them to eat. We never lose but we never win, either. We just keep on dying. Is that what we do?

There are guerrilla armies that make little boys kill their own families. Such acts rip out the soul and make space for beasts to grow inside. Armies need beasts, don't they? Pet beasts, to do their terrible work!

Humans had a genius for devising instruments of death. Their lives were so short and they seemed to value them so little, sending waves of men to clash in battlefields, then weighing victory by the piled corpses. And if they held their own lives so worthless, the lives of everything else were as fruit to pluck from trees.

Vamos a ver. Ya sabes cómo, al final de Romeo y Julieta, Julieta se despierta en la cripta y Romeo ya está muerto? Él pensó que ella estaba muerta por lo que se quitó la vida a su lado?... Bueno, imagina que ella se despierta y él todavía estaba vivo, pero.. Pero él hubiera matado toda su familia. Y quemado su ciudad. Y matado y esclavizado su pueblo".

She experienced a queer collision of reactions these days. Karou's were foremost, and the most immediate, but Madrigal's were hers, too: her two selves, coming together with a strange kind of vibration. It's wasn't disharmony, exactly.

Morgan's fury turned to fear. It was like antiseptic hitting pus: the seethe, the bubbling, the burn.