Quotes About War

Peace is that brief glorious moment in history when everyone is standing around reloading

War is an instrument entirely inefficient toward redressing wrong; and multiplies, instead of indemnifying losses.

Whatever enables us to go to war, secures our peace

War is as much a punishment to the punisher as it is to the sufferer.

armament has been ordered at Brest

Te vendrá muy bien si algún día hay guerra, ¡de la cual Dios nos libre! –¿Dios nos libre? Hablas como un civil. La guerra es necesaria. Sin guerras, el mundo no tardaría en corromperse

Se desarrolla –o, para evitar sistemáticamente el presente: se desarrolló– en otro tiempo, en el pasado, antaño, en el mundo anterior a la Gran Guerra, con cuyo estallido comenzaron muchas cosas que, en el fondo, todavía no han dejado de comenzar. Esta

War! It is purification, liberation, an enormous hope. . . . The victory of Germany will be a paradox, nay, a wonder: a victory of the soul over numbers. . . . The German soul is opposed to the pacifist ideal of civilization, for is not peace the element, of civil corruption?

Dennoch gibt es etwas, was einige von uns in Augenblicken, die ihnen selbst as verbrecherisch erscheinen, andere aber frank und permanent, mehr fürchten als die deutsche Niederlage, und das ist der deutsche Sieg.

This, then, is our desert: to live facing despair, but not to consent. To trample it down under hope in the Cross. To wage war against despair unceasingly.

A theology of love cannot be allowed merely to serve the interests of the rich and powerful, justifying their wars, their violence and their bombs, while exhorting the poor and underprivileged to practice patience, meekness, long-suffering and to solve their problems, if at all, nonviolently.

A letter arrives stamped with the slogan "The U. S. Army, key to peace." No army is the key to peace, neither the U. S. Army nor the Soviet Army nor any other. No "great" nation has the key to anything but war. Power has nothing to do with peace. The more men build up military power, the more they violate peace and destroy it.

This, then, is our desert: to live facing despair, but not to consent. To trample it down under hope in the Cross. To wage war against despair unceasingly. That war is our wilderness.

ON THE LAST DAY OF JANUARY 1915, UNDER THE SIGN OF the Water Bearer, in a year of a great war, and down in the shadow of some French mountains on the borders of Spain, I came into the world.

The Root of War Is Fear AT the root of all war is fear: not so much the fear men have of one another as the fear they have of everything. It is not merely that they do not trust one another; they do not even trust themselves. If they are not sure when someone else may turn around and kill them, they are still less sure when they may turn around and kill themselves. They cannot trust anything, because they have ceased to believe in God.

The only future we seem to walk into, in actual fact, is full of bigger and more terrible wars, wars well calculated to knock our upraised heads off those squared shoulders.

We were in the condition of most of the world, the condition of men without faith in the presence of war, disease, pain, starvation, suffering, plague, bombardment, death. You just had to take it, like a dumb animal. Try to avoid it, if you could. But you must eventually reach the point where you can't avoid it any more. Take it. Try to stupefy yourself, if you like, so that it won't hurt so much. But you will always have to take some of it. And it will all devour you in

Damned Beaver/Jeremy is the War, he is every assertion the fucking War has ever made--that we are meant for work and government, for austerity: and these shall take priority over love, dreams, the spirit, the senses and the other second-class trivia that are found among the idle and mindless hours of the day....Damn them, they are wrong. They are insane.

Lovely morning, World War Two.

And when Franz Ferdinand pays, everybody pays!

Ten million dead. Gas. Passchendaele. Let that be now a large figure, now a chemical formula, now an historical account. But dear lord, not the Nameless Horror, the sudden prodigy sprung on a world unaware. We all saw it. There was no innovation, no special breach of nature, or suspension of familiar principles. If it came as any surprise to the public then their own blindness is the Great Tragedy, hardly the war itself.

He gazes through sunlight's buttresses, back down the refectory at the others, wallowing in their plenitude of bananas, thick palatals of their hunger lost somewhere in the stretch of morning between them and himself. A hundred miles of it, so suddenly. Solitude, even among the meshes of this war, can when it wishes so take him by the blind gut and touch, as now, possessively. Pirate's again some other side of a window, watching strangers eat breakfast.

My mother is the war,' declares Roger Mexico, leaning over to open the door.

Don't forget the real business of the war is buying and selling. The murdering and the violence are self-policing, and can be entrusted to non-professionals.