Quotes About War

Terrorists, Dale? I recall before the war when it became politically incorrect to use that term when it came to real terrorists and ironically then applied to those who were not—and look at what it finally got us.

In 2 Macc. 2:14-15 it is stated that, after the devastating war waged against the Jews by Antiochus IV (called Epiphanes) of Syria, Judas Maccabaeus, who led a Jewish revolt against the Syrians, collected together all the books scattered in the war. This activity, about 164 B.C., probably had a decisive role in the canonization of the Hebrew Bible, including an official listing of its canonical books.

I am interested in madness. I believe it is the biggest thing in the human race, and the most constant. How do you take away from a man his madness without also taking away his identity? Are we sure it is desirable for a man's spirit not to be at war with itself, or that it is better to be serene and ready to go to dinner than to be excited and unwilling to stop for a cup of coffee, even?

There is no such thing as a soldier. I see death as a private event, the destruction of the universe in the brain and in the senses of one man, and I cannot see any man's death as a contributing factor in the success or failure of a military campaign.

Wars, for us, are either inevitable, or created. Whatever they are, they should not wholly vitiate art. What art needs is greater men, and what politics needs is better men. (Something About a Soldier (1940))

De qué serviría presentar objeciones? Un huracán es un acto de Dios. Quizá la guerra también lo sea... todavía no lo sé. Por ahora mi opinión es que la guerra es un acto de los hombres. No me gusta. La odio con todas mis fuerzas. Pero cuando su furia me arrastra, no veo que pueda hacer nada... excepto desear que pueda salir con vida de ella, y te aseguro que es lo que estoy esperando.

I miss you of course and I think of you all the time. I am O.K., and even though I have never believed in wars - and know them to be foolish, even when they are necessary - I am proud that I am involved since so many others are, and this is what's happening. I do not recognize any enemy which is human, for no human being can be my enemy. Whoever he is, he is my friend. My quarrel is not with him, but with that unfortunate part of him which I seek to destroy in myself first.

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility; but when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage.

And Caesar's spirit, raging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry Havoc! and let slip the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.

All is fair in love and war

The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.

Let me have war, say I: it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a destroyer of men.

What soilders whey-face? The English for so please you. Take thy face hence.

O hell! to choose love by another's eyes! Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lighting in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath pwer to say, 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.

Cheerily to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France

But yet let me lament With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts That thou my brother, my competitor In top of all design, my mate in empire, Friend and companion in the front of war, The arm of mine own body, and the heart Where mine his thoughts did kindle—that our stars Unreconcilable should divide Our equalness to this.

Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.

Hot from hell. Caesar's spirit raging in revenge. Cry,havoc! And let slip the dogs of war.

What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state.

Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France.

Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, To change your day of youth to sullied night; And all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you I engraft you new.

The time approaches That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have and what we owe. Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, But certain issue strokes must arbitrate; Towards which, advance the war. They exit marching.

Of France and England, did this king succeed; Whose state so many had the managing. That they lost France and made his England bleed.

As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war.