Quotes About Conflict

The English could bring into this tight area four hundred and forty-eight thousand soldiers, but they could not find space in their ships for the extra medicines and food needed to save emaciated women and children. They could import a hundred thousand horses for their cavalry, but not three cows for their concentration camps. Guns bigger than houses they could haul in, but no hospital equipment. It was insane; it was horrifying...

He must avoid quarrelling as he would avoid drinking a deadly poison.

It means that a man is continually revolting against an effect without, while all the time he is nourishing and preserving its cause in his heart.

That which supremely differentiates the fool from the wise man is this—that the fool meets passion with passion, hatred with hatred, and returns evil for evil; whereas the wise man meets passion with peace, hatred with love, and returns good for evil.

A year or so ago, a guy I didn't like died. We used to argue all the time over our opinions. Now he's dead. I guess I won.

Ask them a question like, 'Do you want this project to fail?' or 'Is this situation not going to work out for either side?'" They don't want to fail, so they will say "no." Now you can start to find common ground.

Do I really want to be integrated into a burning house?

Hatred is always self hatred, and there is something suicidal about it.

With everything in me screaming No! yet the sum of me sighed Yes.

I was guilty and irritated and full of love and pain. I wanted to kick him and I wanted to take him in my arms.

When the white man came to Africa, the white man had the Bible and the African had the land, but now it is the white man who is being, reluctantly and bloodily, separated from the land, and the African who is still attempting to digest or to vomit up the Bible.

Precisely at the point when you begin to develop a conscience you must find yourself at war with your society.

Sometimes, when he was not near me, I thought, I will never let him 'Touch' me again. Then, when he 'Touched' me, I thought, it doesn't matter, it is only the body, it will soon be over. When it was over, I lay in the dark and listened to his breathing and dreamed of the 'Touch' of hands, of Giovanni's hands, or anybody's hands, hands which would have the power to crush me and make me whole again.

His touch could never fail to make me feel desire; yet his hot, sweet breath also made me want to vomit.

He may be a very nice man. But I haven't got the time to figure that out. All I know is, he's got a uniform and a gun and I have to relate to him that way. That's the only way to relate to him because one of us may have to die.

I kissed her salty tears and murmured, murmured I don't know what. I felt her body straining, straining to meet mine and I felt my own contracting and drawing away and I knew that I had begun the long fall down.

It comes as a great shock to see Gary Cooper killing off the Indians and, although you are rooting for Gary Cooper, that the Indians is you

With this fearful intimation there opened in me a hatred for Giovanni which was as powerful as my love and which was nourished by the same roots.

The beast which Giovanni had awakened in me would never go to sleep again; but one day I would not be with Giovanni any more. And would I then, like all the others, find myself turning and following all kinds of boys down God knows what dark avenues, into what dark places? With this fearful intimation there opened in me hatred for Giovanni which was as powerful as my love and which was nourished by the same roots.

The black man in our midst carried murder in his heart, he wanted vengeance. We carried murder too, we wanted peace.

I hoped to burn out, through Hella, my image of Giovanni and the reality of his touch—I hoped to drive out fire with fire.

You stop that,' he said, in a voice which he did not recognise. 'You stop that. You stop trying to kill me. It's not my fault I'm white. It's not my fault you're black. It's not my fault he's dead.

I knew the tension in me between love and power, between pain and rage, and the curious, the grinding way I remained extended between these poles—perpetually attempting to choose the better rather than the worse.

Hatred, which could destroy so much, never failed to destroy the man who hated and this was an immutable law.