Quotes About War

What a thrilling story of wartime survival!

There are times when I have had to make peace with the fact that I am at war.

At that time a lot of young men didn't want to go to the war and kill. This guy that I fell in love with was one of those so he escaped to Canada and I followed him.

And you, my friends who have been called away, I have been spared to mourn for you and weep, not as a frozen willow over your memory, but to cry to the world the names of those who sleep. What names are those! I slam shut the calendar, down on your knees, all! Blood of my heart, the people of Leningrad march out in even rows, the living, the dead: fame can't tell them apart.

You will not live again. You will not rise from the snow Twenty-eight holes from the bayonet Five from the gun. I have made a shroud for my friend, Sad cloth. She loves, loves blood This Russian earth.

Instead of turning away from them (war conditions) in instinctive horror, as people seem to expect, the child may turn towards them with primitive excitement. The real danger is not that the child, caught up all innocently in the whirlpool of war, will be shocked into illness. The danger lies in the fact that the destruction ranging in the outer world may meet the very real aggressiveness ranging in the inside of the child

Mielke and Honecker grew up fighting the real evil of Nazism. And they kept on fighting the west, which they saw as Nazism's successor, for forty-five years after the war ended.

La guerra sembrava qualcosa di sacro ed eroico, proprio come ci avevano insegnato a scuola. Qualcosa che dava un senso alle nostre vite e ci rendeva puri. Cos'avevamo fatto per aver bisogno di una purificazione simile?

Yet in 1917 the gulf between feminists and women workers deepened because of the continuing support of the former for the war and tendency to dismiss the workers' preoccupation with bread as base materialism. While the Bolsheviks took up the demand 'give us bread!' first heard in February the feminist physician Mariia Pokrovskaia insisted that 'to repeat to the people that "the revolution will give you a better piece of bread" is to appeal to the worst part of the people'.

It seemed to me we were fighting against the ice, which was all the while coming steadily nearer, covering more of the world with its dead silence, its awful white peace. By making war we asserted the fact that we were alive and opposed the icy death creeping over the globe.

All Russians I knew hoped passionately that, with Hitler beaten, the War allies might continue friendship into long years of peace. They knew, of course - they had known all through the war - that there were elements in America that sabotaged the alliance, and even some who would rather see Hitler win. For two years while Russians perished by millions, they had watched their Allies delay the promised "second front" in the west.

Month after month, the Russians, bearing the brunt of war, had waited. The Anglo-American landing did not come until June 6, 1944, when the Russian army had already liberated most of the USSR and was driving across Poland. Many Russians had bitterly wondered whether the Allies delayed so that Russia might take the loss, and landed at last in Normandy because they could not afford to let Russians take Berlin alone.

not since I sacrificed the word love for the thing have I fought such a mind in my war.

One of the most oft-quoted records of the siege, scribbled in pencil over the pages of a pocket address book, is that kept by twelve-year-old Tanya Savicheva: 28 December 1941 at 12.30 a.m. – Zhenya died. 25 January 1942 at 3 p.m. – Granny died. 17 March at 5 a.m. – Lyoka died. 13 April at 2 a.m. – Uncle Vasya died. 10 May at 4 p.m. – Uncle Lyosha died. 13 May at 7.30 a.m. – Mama died. The Savichevs are dead. Everyone is dead. Only Tanya is left.

All his family were miners: during the war even his grandmother had worked down the shafts, losing the fingers of her left hand under the wheels of a runaway trolley-car. Though he had gone into a white-collar union job after college, he still thought of himself as a miner, a shakhtyor – in Russian the word still has a faint heroic ring – too. But beyond that Alexey wasn't too sure what he

There is a place where travelers rest, And lay their heads in peace. Returning to the Eagle's nest, All war within will cease. O Lamb of God, Our heart's desire, O Truth in Word, Eternal Fire, O Lamb of God, God's chosen Son, Receive them when Their race is run.

What magic was this, brewed from equal parts of age-old memories and total oblivion. One could have believed that the last war these people had fought had left only happy memories, had carried in its wake nothing but joy and prosperity. Women and girls were smiling as if their sons and lovers were invulnerable.

His eyebrows twitched in time to the march. His eyes glittered. Was his son among the marchers? This was a march that roiled up the people, made their spines tingle and their eyes glow. What magic was this, composed in equal parts of ancient memory and total forgetting? From the way they acted you might think that the last war these people had fought was the happiest of undertakings and had brought them only joy and prosperity

Mothers, justifiably fearful for every pfennig and always asking, What's it for? willingly gave up their sons and parts of their sons as long as they kept on playing this march. Once the music has faded away, they'd ask softly, What for? What for?

All those boys and girls out there, once they'd passed through the Hitler Youth and the Labor Service and the army, they were like the children in the saga, children who'd been raised by wild animals to rip apart and devour their own mothers.

They didn't want to have any children in the Third Reich because eventually those children would be put into brown shirts and drilled to become soldiers.

Shakespeare is all big themes, like the most amazing love, or the most scary war.

Wolf's answers rarely praised communism outright, and he didn't use Marxist language. But almost all of them praised the Red Army or the Soviet system, both of which were favorably compared to their German counterparts. And all of them explicitly contained the promise that life, which had become unbearable under the Nazis and during the final days of the war, would now quickly improve.

The war ended the way a passage through a tunnel ends," wrote the Czech memoirist Heda Kovály. "From far away you could see the light ahead, a gleam that kept growing, and its brilliance seemed ever more dazzling to you huddled there in the dark the longer it took to reach it. But when at last the train burst out in the glorious sunshine, all you saw was a wasteland full of weeds and stones, and a heap of garbage."8