Quotes About Conflict

She turns to me sharply. "To live _is_ to fight," she snaps. "To preserve life is to fight _everything_ that man stands for." She takes an angry huff of air. "And now her, too, with all the bombs. I fight them every time I bandage the blackened eye of a woman, every time I remove shrapnel from a bomb victim." Her voice has raised but she lowers it again. "That's my war," she says. "That's the war I'm fighting.

I'll ask ye this once," the woman says, lifting the rifle again. "Am I gonna need this?" I exchange a glance with Viola. "No," I say. "No, mam," Viola says. Mam? I think. "It's like sir, bonny boy." The woman slings the rifle over her shoulder by its strap. "For if yer a-talking to a lady.

There's only one room on this planet for one side to be dominant, Todd.

Finally, we come to the real thing, the thing that makes men men, the thing were born for, Todd. War.

War makes monsters of men," I say, quoting Ben from that night in the weird place where New World buried its dead. "And women," Mistress Coyle says.

But war can't be personal," I say, almost asking it. "If it's the person that'll end the war," Ben says. "Then it's not personal, it's universal.

War is a monster. War is the devil. It starts and it consumes and it grows and grows. And otherwise normal men become monsters, too.

He didn't want to go and look. But at the same time, a part of him wanted to look more than anything.

A peace that blacked yer eye,' I say. 'A peace that split yer lip.' He looks at me for another second and then gives a sad snort. "The words of a sage," he says, "in the voice of a hick.

it's been obvious since the beginning that wars make no sense. You kill people to tell them you want to stop killing them. Monsters of men, I think. And women.

Haven musta been a comfortable place, a place where men weren't fighting every day just to survive. Maybe too much comfort was the problem.

His chest still burned, so much he couldn't tell where the anger stopped and the wound began.

I fight them every time I bandage the blackened eye of a woman, every time I remove shrapnel from a bomb victim. That's my war. That's the war I'm fighting.

What a sad thing men are. Can't do nothing good without being so weak we have to mess it up. Can't build something up without tearing it down. It ain't the Spackle that drove us to the end. It was ourselves.

I will never let go of this knife, no matter what she says, no matter how she says it. She

She's always saying that being a leader is making the people you love hate you a little more each day." She catches my eye. "Which is something I believe, too.

But you can't make war personal," I say, "or you'll never make the right decisions." "And if you didn't make personal decisions, you wouldn't be a person.

Bitches,' Mr. Hammar says from atop his horse. 'Your analysis' was not asked for, Seargeant,' says the Mayor.

If you ever see a war," she says, not looking up from her clipboard, "you'll learn that war only destroys. No one escapes from a war. No one. Not even the survivors. You accept things that would appal you at any other time because life has temporarily lost all meaning.

A peace that blacked yer eye," I say. "A peace that split yer lip.

I turn back to the man. Back to Ben. He is mine, I think. If there is peace, he is mine. Mine to kill.

And a part of you wished it would just end, said the monster, even if it meant losing her. Conor nodded, barely able to speak.

Men and their Noise. I don't know how they do it, how they stand each other

War is a monster," he says, almost to himself. "War is the devil. It starts and it consumes and it grows and grows and grows." Hw's looking at me now. " And otherwise normal men become monsters, too